Once Upon a Parody
by Janriel
Summary: Requested TMR pairs (Thominewt Newtmas Thominho Minewt) in a Disney movie or Fairy Tale parody from my tumblr ask box.
1. Tangled (Thominewt)

_Originally posted on AO3, decided to move it over here for people who don't like AO3._

 _These "chapters" are just prompt responses so the quality might vary. Most of them will feel incomplete, some of them will be completed. It depends on demand.  
_

 _First prompt was requested by Anon. They asked for a thominewt Tangled or Disney's Little Mermaid. I ended up writing both._  
 _The Newt version in this one is from the books. (Not Thomas Sangster)_

* * *

 **Tangled (Thominewt)  
**

* * *

They'd out run the guards a few miles back, the thick foliage of the forest providing cover as they trudged through the dwindling daylight. It'd been earlier in the day when Thomas had hatched his half-baked plan to steal the crown from the palace, and Minho, his loyal partner in crime, had been nothing but ecstatic. Things hadn't gone well – when did they ever? – but Thomas's quick thinking allowed them to escape unscathed.

Now, they were lost in the woods, the royal family's crown tucked safely in the knapsack hanging from Thomas's shoulders. The humidity of the forest pressed around them, making them sweat despite the cool of the shade.

They cut through the thickness, dodging upturned roots and low hanging branches. Minho glanced over his shoulder with a triumphant grin and tossed a canteen Thomas's way.

"Drink up shank. You're sweating like a pig."

Thomas caught the canteen with ease and uncapped the container, a playful smile on his lips. "I thought you liked it when I'm a hot and sweaty mess, Min."

"Only when I'm the reason why."

Thomas hummed, the cool liquid sliding down his throat a great relief to his otherwise overheated body.

They tumbled out into a clearing, bright and beautiful under the afternoon sun. Poking high into the sky was a tower covered in layers of ivy; the red roof faded from years of storms. It must have been an old watch tower, back when the kingdom was smaller and animals were still a threat.

"Looks abandoned,' Minho murmured, shielding his eyes against the sun for a better look. "Would make a great place for shelter."

"And a better place to hide from the knights." Thomas supplied. He tightened the knapsack around his shoulders for better security then made his way towards the tower. The vines appeared to be thick enough. Hopefully they were sturdy enough too.

Thomas grabbed onto a fistful and hoisted his body into the air.

"What the hell are you doing?" He heard Minho ask, incredulity lacing his tone.

Thomas grinned. "What's it look like? I'm climbing the vines!"

"That's dangerous, Thomas."

The brunet barked out a carefree laugh. "When did that ever stop us, Min?"

The older boy grinned in delight. He was scaling up the tower before Thomas could blink.

"Last one to the top is a rotten shank!"

"Oh, you're on!"

Despite the height and the possibility of death by said height, Thomas raced his partner to the top of the tower. Minho crawled in through the window first, that infuriatingly adorable cocky grin already plastered on his flushed face. Thomas chose to ignore him as he climbed through the window. He had just gathered his bearings when a loud clang sounded through the room.

Minho crashed to the floor with a heavy thud, his body unmoving.

Thomas's heart jolted in fear. Without thinking, he whipped out a dagger from its hiding place in his clothes and held it up against the throat of his soon-to-be assailant. The figure stilled, the sharp blade of the dagger pressed precariously against his skin.

He blinked.

His assailant was a boy – possibly no older than him and Minho – with long golden tresses of hair that trailed the floor in unbelievable lengths. He was tall, easily towering over the brunet, with muscles that bulged from his arms; a heavy iron frying pan in hand. His eyes were a startling shade of blue, wide and defiant.

(If Thomas were honest with himself, it was because of this boy's eyes he found himself breathless.)

Thomas blinked again, entranced by the figure before him.

The blond let out a dark chuckle, eyes glinting. "Are ya gonna gawk at me all day or are ya gonna slice my throat and get on with it?" he growled.

Thomas felt his heart skip a beat.

"I'm not going to kill you," he said, brows furrowing. He lowered the sharp weapon slowly, letting the mysterious boy trail it with his eyes. "We mean you no harm. We thought the tower was abandoned. Minho and I were just looking for a place to hide."

At the mention of the other boy, an agonized groan escaped his fallen partner's lips. Thomas felt a well of sympathy swell in his chest. Minho's head was going to smart later.

The blond stranger lowered his frying pan, a curious scowl set on his lips.

"Hide out from what? Bandits?"

Thomas smiled in amusement. "From the knights."

The boy tensed again. "So you're bandits?"

"Who just need a place to stay."

Minho moaned again.

The blond tore his eyes away from Thomas to chance a glance at the pained male on the floor. He sucked his teeth, as though the sight of Minho sprawled on the ground was a nuisance to him. He suddenly sighed.

"Okay. You can stay. But on one condition."

"What's that?"

The tall boy fixed Thomas with a hard stare.

"You have to take me with you when you leave."

* * *

Thomas was by Minho's side when the boy came to. Newt, as the blond was called, gave him a pitcher of water to serve to Minho then returned to his closet to pack up important essentials. He carefully tipped the metallic cup into Minho's lips, mindful of the way he drank so he wouldn't choke. When he was done, Minho sat up slowly, a scowl etched onto his face.

"Ugh," He groaned. "Shuck me, it's like I got hit with a brick. What the hell was that?"

"A frying pan." Thomas smiled. "You scared Newt."

"The shuck is a Newt?"

The boy in question appeared on Minho's other side, yards of hair rolled up in his hands. More still trailed the ground despite the bundle. (Thomas wondered how it was even possible for hair that long to exist.)

"Names Newt and you're lucky I only knocked ya out with a fryin' pan."

Minho gaped at the blond, eyes raking over the boy's form. He turned to Thomas slowly, dark eyes inquisitive.

Thomas couldn't help but smile sheepishly. "He's coming with us. Hope you don't mind."

Minho snapped his jaw shut, brows pulling into a frown. "What?!" He shrieked.

Before Thomas could explain any further, Newt pulled away from them with a mischievous grin. "Glad ya can agree. Now," he tossed the length of his hair onto a hook just outside the window and turned to them as the rest of his unnaturally shimmering locks flew out of sight. "Are we leaving or not?"

Minho returned to gawking, utterly speechless.

* * *

 **Comments? Questions? Critics?  
Drop a line!**


	2. The Little Mermaid (Thominewt)

_There are two endings for this!_

 _Originally requested by Anon_

* * *

 _ **The Little Merman (Thominewt)**_

* * *

In the dark enclosed safety of their secret grotto, Teresa watched silently as her childhood friend Thomas tinkered with an item from the surface. She had hoped he would have out grown his strange curiosity with the surface dwellers. Ever since they found that strange wooden box covered in barnacles as children – the one with a tiny human girl that twirled on the inside – Thomas had done nothing but spend his free time hunting down more artifacts from the upper surface. He'd driven his mother with worry, his constant disappearances from the court had done nothing to favor him. His curiosity turned obsession was often the source of trouble between him, Teresa and Alby. They were such curious souls, always tagging along with Thomas on his asinine adventures for more peculiar trinkets, but unlike Alby and Teresa – both of whom had outgrown this strange human phase – Thomas stayed.

Teresa realized Thomas couldn't simply let it go.

And again, because of his reckless curiosity, they had found themselves in a world of danger; nearly devoured by a renegade shark. Worst yet, they missed Alby's coronation ceremony.

Teresa felt terrible about it. They'd been friends since birth, to miss the most important day in their best friend's life just for a stupid trinket that neither of them had any business looking for – Teresa couldn't fathom it. She hated herself for letting Thomas talk her into joining him. She promised to make it up to Alby the moment she could, but first things first, she needed to put Thomas in his place.

"Tom, we need to talk."

"Hm?" There was a loud snap as a small cluster of bubbles escaped Thomas's grasp. He pouted in disappointment, two halves of what used to be an intact human artifact caked in coral now in each palm. He heaved a heavy sigh and set down the contraption. He glanced to Teresa then, showing her she had his undivided attention. For the moment.

"Tom, this obsession of yours needs to stop. Do you know what today is? It was Alby's coronation day! And we missed it!"

Thomas swam to the next shelf over, dark blue fin swooshing expertly through the water. Teresa scowled, irritated with the nonchalant movement. Did he honestly not care about their best friend's successful claim to the throne? Or was he bitter that Alby of all people had been chosen amongst the seven of them?

She swam to his side in a flash, violet fin jerking in aggravation. She snatched the world globe from Thomas's hands, icy blue eyes sharp in rage.

"Thomas, you better listen to me right now or so help me I will tie your hands to your fin and hang you from the palace! Alby will let me too, he's as mad about you missing the ceremony as I am!"

Thomas chuckled, not at all bothered by her threat.

She seethed. "THOMAS!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." He didn't look sorry, not with the way that smile graced his lips. "I know, I feel bad for missing his ceremony, but there was something really important I needed to get from that wreckage. Can you blame me?"

"Yes I can!" She snapped. "You nearly got us killed!"

Thomas deftly plucked the world globe from her long fingers and placed it carefully onto the sandy shelf. "But we didn't and that's all that matters."

Teresa felt the inexplicable urge to smack to smack him silly. Her long black hair crowned above her head, the gentle current of the living sea tugging it along. She rubbed her temples in stress.

"Oh dear Neptune, please give me the strength to deal with the idiocy of my best friend."

Thomas had the audacity to appear offended.

"You're praying to him? All because I wanted to go on a scavenger hunt?"

She fixed him a deadly glare, one that could kill him twenty times over. "I'm praying to him because we nearly got eaten by a shark, Thomas! We could have died! How do you think Alby would have felt if we died on his coronation day?!"

Thomas made to answer when a dark shadow penetrated the light of the moon. They fell into a brief darkness, the strange shadow long and looming. Various lights illuminated the surface, dim within the grotto, but bright enough to pique Thomas's curiosity.

Teresa felt her heart quicken in panic.

"Thomas, no! Thomas!"

She tried to grab his hand, but he swam away before she could, leaving her alone in their grotto.

* * *

The surface air was warm against his skin, his chestnut bangs dripping water into his eyes. He brushed them away and felt the world still, his eyes suddenly wide. It was a ship, about as large as the ones he'd seen mauled and coated in barnacles. It was made of wood, with iron cannons dotting the sides and colorful banners Thomas assumed displayed where the ship had come from. An etching of a mermaid decorated its starboard side, intricate in design. She was beautiful, like the sunken marble statues Thomas found through his years of searching.

The lights that flashed in the sky were obnoxiously loud. They startled his nerves, made his head ache from the harsh noise, but the sparkle of lights that exploded from them was mesmerizing. Hypnotic even. Green, blue, red, yellow – Thomas had never seen such colors so bright in his life. They were like the stars, only colorful and quick to die.

He was entranced.

Teresa broke through the surface beside him, panic marred into her face as they watched the ship float on by. She grabbed his bicep pleadingly, blue eyes teary, but Thomas shrugged her off. He dived back into the water and made way to the ship.

* * *

It was full of sailors singing in celebration. Thomas didn't understand what they were saying or why they appeared so ebullient, but it thrilled him. It was the perfect example of why their old King had been wrong about them. Humans weren't mindless, soulless, hateful creatures. They could laugh and sing, they could dance around with their fellow companions – it was unbelievable.

He longed to join them.

He longed to dance alongside them, move his fin in the way they did. He wanted to eat the things they did, those strange forms of foods that didn't involve seaweed or smaller fish. He wished to know what it was like to drink that amber liquid that sloshed out of their mugs and onto the ground. The faces they made when they drank it was hilarious. Thomas wanted to know what that fuzzy thing on four legs was and why did it seem so ecstatic to see him. It had even licked him, its tongue smooth against his cheek.

But most importantly, Thomas wanted to know who the boy with the long blond hair was.

The ocean churned beside the ship, waves splashing harshly against the keel. The joyous air Thomas loved quickly turned to panic. The men began to scream. They ran across the deck in a flurry of horror, some looking lost and confused while most appeared to move with a sense of duty. The small creature that had licked his face earlier lost its joy, its tongue no longer hanging out or its tail wagging.

Thomas felt the winds change from the tranquil night breeze to a charged austerity. He loathed to leave them, but the oncoming storm promised to be something fierce and being caught above water during a storm wasn't something he wanted to do. He dived back into the sea, safe from the blowing winds and the lights that danced in the clouds.

A part of him hoped the humans would be okay. The sea could sometimes be traitorous. He'd seen enough sunken ships to know what the outcome of their ship would be if they were not careful.

Alas, his hopes were for naught.

The ship caught fire and torn to shreds by the elements. Thomas, horrified by the sight, swam into the sinking wreckage, his mind reeling back to that friendly animal and the human with hair the color of the sun. He ignored Teresa's panicked screaming, determined to make sure these strangers were okay.

He caught sight of a halo of blond hair, a body still and tangled in ropes and debris. Someone else moved frantically beside him. It was another boy, with short black hair and muscular arms that tried fruitlessly to pluck the blond from his trapped position. Bubbles escaped from his mouth, anger and fear etched in his eyes.

Thomas bolted. He ignored the panic-awed expression on the boy's face and focused instead on the ropes that entangled itself around the fair haired boy's ankle. He set to work, disentaling what he could. He grabbed onto the boy's arms the moment he was free and swam to the surface, the brunet in tow.

"Oh my god!' the human boy gasped. "Newt! Newt!" He grabbed onto the blond, the waves still harsh in the storm.

Thomas wanted nothing more than to calm him, to tell him that they were both in good hands, but the human wouldn't have understood. The most Thomas could do was keep them from drowning and lead them to the nearest source of land.

Luckily for them, debris floated up to the surface. Thomas found a board long enough to carry the unconscious boy. His dark haired companion held onto one side while Thomas grabbed the other, and together, they pushed it along. They reached the surface just as dawn broke the horizon.

Minho was the first to pull away, his body exhausted and heavy from the long swim. He crawled onto the beach, half-dragging his legs as he did so, then crashed into the sand in an inelegant display. Thomas found it amusing. He rolled onto his back, sand coating his soggy clothes and face; his chest heaving.

Thomas dragged the unconscious Newt beside him, his face red from the exertion. The human was a lot heavier than he appeared to be when they were underwater. Once he was in place, Minho scrambled to his side. He pressed his hands against the boy's chest and pushed repeatedly against him until the boy jerked with a cough and threw up the ocean's water from his lungs.

Thomas slid back into the sea before Minho could thank him.

* * *

"Minho…" Newt croaked, throat raw from the salt. "Wha… what happened?"

Minho blinked. He wasn't sure what to say. He turned back to the sea, now calm and beautiful against the yellow-orange of the sky. The image of the boy with a blue tail fin flashed into his mind's eye.

"I… I think we were saved by a merman."

Newt frowned, disbelieving.

Minho didn't blame him. If he hadn't been conscious throughout the whole thing, he didn't think he'd believe his own words either. "Yeah," he chuckled humorously. "As crazy as it sounds, it's true Newt. A merman saved us. Well, I guess he'd technically be a mer-boy. Mer-teen? Mer-something." He trailed off, that sapphire blue fin bright in his mind.

* * *

Hidden behind the rocks, just a swim away from the shore, Thomas watched the boys climb to their feet. He lingered as the dark haired boy helped his companion, his hand over his shoulder, another by his waist. They limped their way toward the castle, the fair haired boy favoring his uninjured leg. Thomas stayed until the only thing left from them was their footprints in the sand and the sense of longing weighing heavily in his chest.

He sighed. Oh how he wished to be there with them.

* * *

Teresa didn't like him being so brainless, but Thomas couldn't help himself. The images of those two humans burned in his mind. He could barely sleep a wink without thinking of them, their wrecked ship or the castle by the beach. He scavenged their sunken ship for any sign of their belongings – anything he could keep as a memento of their existence – but all Thomas found was devastation and a few abandoned crates filled with spoiled goods. In other words, nothing but junk even he found no use for or for his collection.

He was back in his secret grotto, dazedly watching the bubbles blow from one of the human artifacts when Teresa swam in front of him, blocking his view.

"We need to talk." She scowled, blue eyes sharp. "This has got to stop, Tom."

"What does?"

"This!" She gestured to his collection, pale arms wide. "Tom, your obsession with the surface world has got to end. You're going to hurt yourself if you keep doing this. Ever since that ship came by, you haven't been yourself and frankly, Thomas, it's scaring me."

"I'm perfectly fine, Teresa." He sighed, floating away from her for something else to daze at.

She followed him, quick as lightning. "No, you're not!" She grabbed his face before he could react and stared hard into his tired eyes pleadingly. "Thomas, please, you haven't been eating. You haven't been sleeping. All you do is hang out around here all day or scavenger hunt for sunk ships! Don't you see, you're completely obsessed about these humans! Don't you understand they're dangerous?"

He ripped himself away from her grip, aggravated with her words. Why did everyone always have to tell him how dangerous the humans were? It wasn't like they'd done anything bad to him. The humans he rescued had been nothing but harmless!

"Humans aren't dangerous Teresa. That's just a stupid rumor Dad used to tell us to make sure we behaved."

She bristled. "Tom, why do you think they used to tell us those bedtimes stories? Where do you think they came from in the first place? Because humans are _cruel_ and _dangerous!_ And those people you saved are just no different than the rest of the surface world! Just because you saved their lives from drowning doesn't mean they wouldn't come hunt you down and rip you out of the sea. They don't owe you any favors, Thomas! They'll kill you!"

"That's enough!"| He snapped, startling her. "I get it. You're not happy I saved their lives but I couldn't leave them to die. They deserved to live and you know what? I would do it all over again." He turned his back on her and swam out of the grotto in haste.

She called after him, her voice broken and filled with such sorrow, Thomas' heart clenched to hear it, but he continued to swim until her voice drowned in the distance.

He didn't stop until he was back at their sunken ship.

* * *

He didn't know how long he sat there, idling in the cold current, but he knew one thing: he had to see them again. He needed to, just one more time.

He had thought up various ways to contact them: swimming up to the surface, calling out their names, even though he didn't know it or their language. He thought about swimming into their town via the canals; considered getting the seagulls to come to his aid. He thought of throwing rocks at every window at the castle until a familiar head of blond hair or the curious expression of the dark haired male poked through the window. But everything he thought of brought Teresa's worried face into mind. The pleading look in her eyes; the way she had begged him to let his obsession go – he ached.

He felt terrible for making her worry so much, but Thomas knew he would feel worse if he didn't at least _try_ to find those humans on the surface.

And once he did, one he saw how they were doing, how they reacted to him; perhaps how they lived, he would return to Teresa, satisfied and contented. He promised himself he would put his human fascination behind him, all he wanted was to see those boys again.

"Hey Thomas!"

Thomas turned, surprise written on his face. Chuck swam around him, bright eyed and energetic as his fins kicked up a mini storm of bubbles. Thomas' face split into a wide smile.

"Chuck! It's so great to see you. How did you find me?"

The guilt from earlier struck Thomas tenfold. Chuck had been his friend since they were both small kids. He would often hang around him and Teresa in their childhood years, but lately, Thomas' new found fascination turned obsession with the human world kept him from seeing the flounder in weeks. Thomas couldn't remember the last time he hung out with the fish.

"You can't hide from me. I'll always find you." The flounder grinned, or at least, as much as a fish could. "Heard you've been sad lately and obsessing about those humans you saved."

Thomas sighed. "You've been talking to Teresa, huh?"

"She's real worried about you, Thomas."

"Yeah, I know. I just… Thomas glanced upward, eyeing the dim reflection of the burning sun. "I just… really want to see what it's like, you know?"

"I don't know," The boy smiled again. "The surface is dangerous for us fish."

Thomas chuckled weakly. "Yeah, no water for you to breathe."

Chuck watched him for a moment, his expression solemn. It was unusual on the flounder's face, he was always such a smiley fish. And yet, there was something in his eyes Thomas couldn't decipher, like the wheels in his head were turning and turning. It was a strange sight. Chuck didn't really _think_ about anything.

"Y'know Thomas I bet there's a way for you to find those humans you really like."

Thomas turned to him, suddenly hopeful. "How?"

"I can't tell you. Teresa would kill me."

"Not if we keep it between us, Chuck." He wrapped an arm around the flounder, like he used to when they were small. "Remember when we used to play tricks on her and whenever she suspected either of us, we would blame Alby or Aris?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "She used to get really mad at them."

Thomas nodded. "It's the same concept here, Chuck. It'll be a secret between you and me. Just between us boys and no one else."

Chuck seemed to mull it over for a moment before he swam out of Thomas' arm excitedly, a bright smile on his face. "Okay, but only because we're good friends. Here's a guy I know who could give you what you're looking for, I think. His name is Janson. Have you heard of him?"

Thomas reeled back in horror. "The warlock? But, Chuck, father— _the king—_ he was banished! You really think he's going to help me?"

Chuck shrugged. "It's better than sulking around and doing nothing."

Thomas bit his lip. He got him there.

* * *

When this was all over, Thomas planned on having a serious conversation with Chuck, particularly about how the flounder knew about the warlocks' existence. Thomas had been a baby when Janson was exiled from the Kingdom, the reasons behind his banishment were never fully discussed and yet, somehow, the whole kingdom seemed to know except for him and his siblings. More troubling was how Chuck knew where to go.

He'd asked throughout their journey, but Chuck seemed tight lipped with his information. It made Thomas wonder what exactly did Chuck do when he and Teresa weren't around to play with him. (He pictured the flounder going on dangerous adventurous, making friends in the black market and bridging bad blood between rivals, all with a look of pure innocence on his face.)

Janson's lair was a swim away from the palace, a troubling thing to know when the warlock was meant to be _banished_ from the kingdom. By the time they arrived, the sun had already vanished from the watery sky above and the ocean depeths were drenched in such darkness Thomas had trouble seeing. Chuck swam on, seemingly unaffected.

"This is it," He beamed. "Let's go!" He zoomed into the lair before Thomas could protest.

Thomas was not at all impressed with Janson's taste in décor. The place was covered with seaweed and bones from bigger creatures; some he recognized, most he didn't. The octopus had an assortment of bottles filled with fish eyes, clam meat, organs from bigger creatures and scales he presumed from other fish, though the thought of other mer-folk had crossed his mind. His lair was a regular mad house, a freak show of things all bottled up nicely to show off to the neighbors. Well, if he had neighbors.

It was no wonder his father had banished the bastard.

The warlock himself stood behind a cauldron of sorts. He didn't appear to be using it for anything' his icy blue eyes were on Thomas with rapt attention. His face broke out into a small smirk, as though he knew the reason why Thomas was there. He might as well have, he was a warlock after all.

"Thomas I presume. I've been expecting you."

"I bet," Thomas snorted. Chuck hung back beside him, quietly observing the exchange. "My friend tells me you can help me."

Janson pulled away from the cauldron, his black tentacles curling leisurely as he moved.

"Why yes boy, I can help you. You wish to go to the surface world, do you not?"

Thomas narrowed his eyes. He didn't trust this hack for even a second.

Janson ignored his hostility. He scanned through his shelves of ingredients before grabbing a handful of things. He tossed them into the cauldron, were it bubbled and fumed. The smell of was unbearable.

"I can get you to the surface. I can even help you live among them if that's what you want," he paused, a dark gleam in his eyes. "But it'll come at a price."

"Of course it will." Thomas growled. "I'm not selling you my life or my servitude."

"Thomas, Thomas. Have a little faith lad. I don't want any of that," Janson chuckled. "No, what I want is your voice."

Thomas frowned. "My voice?"

"Body alteration spells are complicated, lad. I can't give you legs without taking something else in return." Janson threw another ingredient into the cauldron and peered at Thomas through the emerald green smoke. "Besides, what did you plan on doing once you reached the surface? You know well the humans don't speak our language."

"I could learn it—"

"Thomas," Janson sighed, shaking his head as though he were dealing with a fool. It made Thomas' blood boil. "It takes months to learn their language, maybe even years. Quite frankly, that's time you can't spare. All I ask is for your voice. I'll give you human legs and you'll get to find your precious little humans. You'll learn very quickly that humans have other means of communicating."

Thomas frowned. He glanced back at Chuck, who shrugged unhelpfully. It seemed like a fair trade, but Thomas couldn't bring himself to agree with Janson's offer. Not yet. He needed to know there weren't any loopholes to this innocent spell.

"Okay, I'll give you my voice, but I have a few conditions myself."

Janson's pleasant demeanor flickered for half a second. Thomas stood his ground, wary of the warlock's shift.

"Name it."

"Thomas cleared his throat. "When you take my voice, make it so I can understand what they're saying." Janson scowled. "It shouldn't matter right? It's not like I can talk to them anyway."

"Fine."

"Also—" Janson's good mood soured. Thomas relished in that fact. "—don't give me a time limit."

Janson bristled, but Thomas barreled on before the creature could argue.

"I'm sacrificing more than my voice to do this, Janson. I'm giving up a part of myself for two humans who may not be worth it. I don't need an expiration date hanging over my head."

He clicked off another finger, having decided to annoy the warlock further with a visual countdown, no matter how stupid it may be.

"Thirdly, don't take away my ability to communicate with my family. Should everything go bad on the surface, I want to be able to contact the King. I won't have _you_ deal with my messes."

Janson's tentacles curled into themselves. Thomas figured that was the creature's way of trying not to punch him.

"Fourthly, you'll leave Chuck alone once this deal is done. I don't think the King would appreciate how close you are to the kingdom or that you've been messing around with his folk. I won't tell if you promise to stand by my terms."

Janson clenched his jaw, his blue eyes as cold as an iceberg.

"Fine Thomas. I agree to your terms. But know, the next time you threaten me, you'll regret it."

* * *

Chuck helped him reach the surface once the pain of his fins splitting into limbs gave way to the terror of joking beneath the sea. His newly born legs tingled and prickled like a thousand needles stabbing his nerves; they were gangly and long, with fine little hairs sticking from his skin, but Thomas was enthralled by their appearance. Walking on sand for the first time brought him terrible, incomprehensible pain, but feeling the sand between his toes; the sea-salt water drying on his skin, made it bearable. Chuck wished him luck before diving beneath the waves.

Now Thomas was alone and naked, his legs weak and pained yet his spirit a flame. He summoned up all the courage he could in one breath. He pushed away the horrific experience of the change from his mind, along with his deal with Janson and the look of heartbreak on Teresa's face. He focused on the image of the two boys he saved from the wreck and took a step forward.

He fell face first into the sand.

He woke up to the sight of a familiar set of dark eyes.

"Hey, hey, calm down, you're safe here." Minho soothed. He pressed a gentle hand against the boy's knee, but withdrew it immediately when Thomas gave a sharp cry of pain. "Sorry, sorry! W-what's, uh, what's your name?"

Thomas opened his mouth to respond but stopped. He sighed mutely. He shook his head then tapped his throat. Minho seemed to understand.

"Hmm, we found you washed up ashore. Whatever you experienced out there probably damaged you more than I realized." Minho fell back into his chair, dark almond shaped eyes intuitive. He stared at the brunet long and hard, his hand massaging his chin absently. "You're the same person who rescued us from drowning, aren't you?"

Thomas beamed.

Minho's brows rose into his hairline, as though he were taken aback by the boy's enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I thought so. Your face isn't something I can forget." Minho smiled, though it didn't seem to reach his eyes. "Thank you for rescuing us, but… weren't you a mermaid before?"

Thomas nodded.

"How is it possible you have legs right now?"

 _It's a long story._ Thomas sighed. He wished he could explain, but without a proper means of communication, this human would never know, or understand all that Thomas sacrificed.

Minho seemed to sense Thomas' frustration and dropped the subject. He held out his hand for the boy to take and introduced himself as Minho.

Thomas wished he could share his name.

* * *

Minho introduced Thomas to the blond who nearly drowned in the sea as Newt. It wasn't his real name, but Newt felt Thomas had earned the right to call him by such a precious nickname. Thomas felt moved by Newt's words. He was grateful he couldn't speak, he didn't think he could stifle his whimpers.

They spent the first day giving Thomas a tour of the castle. Thomas had been so fascinated and enraptured by all the sights, he barely registered the gnawing pain that crept up his new legs. It wasn't until nightfall came, and the boys had shown Thomas to his room, did the former merman finally succumb to the agony. His legs felt like they were on fire; every step was like a bolt of electricity circling through his veins. It was like the time Thomas sat on an urchin, his fin had been in such unimaginable torment he had trouble swimming for four days.

Minho carried him to bed, his arms strong around his tormented body.

"I'm not sure what price you had to pay for those legs but I think you should get your money back." He quipped.

The knight laid him down gently on the soft cushions as the Prince overlooked from behind him, blue eyes swimming in worry.

"We shove get a doctor to look at him. You said you found him at the beach?"

"Yeah, but I don't think a doctor can help him, Newt."

Thomas shook his head in agreement. Confusion washed over Newt's face, but the prince did not press. And for that, Thomas was grateful.

"Rest up then," he said instead. "I wanna show you the town tomorrow. This is your first time here, isn't it?"

Thomas nodded enthusiastically, brown eyes wide with excitement.

Minho held back a snicker at the boy's childlike behavior.

"That's what I thought. Go to sleep. Rest your legs. Tomorrow's gonna be something."

Thomas didn't think he could sleep, but the moment his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.

* * *

Watching the humans in their natural habitat fascinated Thomas beyond comprehension. After a delicious breakfast with the prince, Minho escorted them to a carriage and whisked them off into town. The first place they visited was the market place, where Thomas immediately lost himself in the bustle of the crowd. It took them early twenty minutes to find the former merman again.

He stood outside a book store, his nose pressed against the glass like a child desperate for a shiny new toy or a delicious treat from the bakers.

Newt chuckled at his antics and brought him inside.

They bought him books to read, even though he couldn't, but Thomas felt his heart melt at the gesture. They spent most of the day leading him around the market; Newt explained things Thomas questioned; Thomas lingered over every little thing that caught his eye and Minho stood guard. He kept a vigilant eye on his precious cargos, wary of the merchants who tried to haggle an exuberant, but curious Thomas or the prince.

A quick carriage ride through the park ended with a picnic in Newt's favorite spot beneath a giant oak tree.

"Minho and I come here all the time when things get too stressful at the castle." He explained at Thomas' curious look. "It's our special place. We figured you would enjoy it too."

And Thomas did. So much so, water poured from his eyes. It sent the boys into a panic until Thomas bowed over in laughter. He hadn't known human eyes could leak, or that they tasted like the sea.

* * *

His legs felt like lead when they finally returned to the castle. Tired and sore, with bags full of merchandise and gifts from his wonderful hosts, Thomas thanked them in the only way he could: he hugged them; squeezed them as tightly as he could. He gave each of them a kiss on the cheek, a gesture he had seen the women do during his trip. It felt right in this situation. A hug was not enough.

Neither of them seemed to mind.

They helped him to his room again, his legs a terrible burden and his gifts – a bag of books and clothes from the store – too heavy for him to hold.

Minho set aside his gifts, an amused gleam in his eye.

"I think we spoiled him today, Newt. He's tuckered out again."

Thomas gave him a mock pout as he crawled into his comfortable mattress.

"I don't mind. I can't imagine any other way to say thank you to the person who saved our lives." Newt quipped. He sat at the edge of Thomas' bed, an inquisitive look in his blue eyes again. "And still, we don't know your name."

 _I don't know what it would sound like in your language._ Thomas mused.

"Let's make one up."

They turned to Minho quizzically.

"Yeah! How 'bout shank?" The knight grinned.

Thomas bulked. He had no idea what a "shank" was but he didn't like how rough it sounded on Minho's tongue. It was nowhere near as elegant as his name!

Luckily for him, Newt seemed to agree.

"Ugh, bloody hell Min, you and that awful word."

"Don't be a shank,": he grinned.

Newt rolled his eyes. "No. I don't think he likes that."

"Okay. How 'bout mer-boy?"

Thomas shook his head desperately.

"Okay, okay how about John?" Another shake. "Ben?"

"Winston?" Newt added.

Thomas shook his head so hard, the room started spinning. Newt gripped his shoulder to steady him.

"Isaac?" Newt shot Minho a lethal stare. "I'm just kidding, jeez!"

"I think I'll just call you Tommy, after my favorite uncle."

Thomas gazed into Newt's eyes, searching for something he could not find. He didn't understand how someone like him, let alone a human, be so… so _Newt._

Minho rolled his eyes with a snort, but when Thomas glanced his way, the knight was wearing a broad grin.

"I like Tommy."

Newt beamed. "Then it's settled. From now on, we'll call you Tommy."

Thomas face split into a bright smile. He really liked the sound of that name.

* * *

He saw Janson in his dreams. He appeared to him like a ghoul, his face grim among the sea of black clouds. _Ink_ was what his mind called it. Janson's expression appeared so sinister, Thomas felt terror grip his heart. He didn't exactly fear Janson despite his reputation, but the look on the creature's face then…

No words were exchanged; only a glance and a malicious smile. The ominous feeling that overcame him, that suffocated his very being jolted him into wakefulness.

Thomas woke up screaming into the darkness; his mouth open wide and the vines on his neck strained; yet he already knew no one would come. He didn't have sound to scream.

He had no voice to call for help.

Afraid of what lurked in the darkness, he stayed awake until dawn, the ghostly visage of Janson's cruel smile ingrained into his mind.

* * *

"Wow, you look dead."

Thomas shot a sleepy, lethal glare Minho's way, but the look came out more like a squint than fearsome. Minho laughed at him, ruffled his hair before planting a kiss against his messy brown locks. They both froze, surprised by the action.

"Er," he coughed. "Sorry. I just… I don't know where that came from." He cleared his throat. "I'll just, uh, I'll get his majesty."

Thomas watched him go, his stomach a flutter and his skin warm though the air was cool.

Minho was such a fascinating creature. Even when he didn't mean to, he always found a way to make Thomas feel _strange_ in this human body.

He returned ten minutes later with Newt in tow and –

Thomas jerked to his feet, his movement rattling the table dangerously.

"Something wrong Tommy?"

Thomas cursed his inability to speak for the umpteenth time. Standing behind the man, dressed in black with a wicked grin was Janson. He stood tall and proud, his human legs hidden beneath the black slacks he wore. He held his hands behind his back and arched a refined brow, as though he were inquisitive about Thomas' strange behavior.

Thomas was shaking, the rage bubbling in his veins.

"Tommy?" Newt questioned, his brows furrowed.

Thomas reluctantly shook his head. He returned to his chair, but kept a watchful eye on Janson's movements. The older man didn't seem to mind. In fact, he appeared amused – and it grated on Thomas' nerves.

"I apologize for my son's behavior. He always did have difficult expressing his emotions."

 _Son?!_

"Right," Minho muttered, his face marred with thinly veiled disgust.

Newt gave Minho a look that was hard to decipher. "We're glad Tommy has a family looking for him, but, if you don't mind my asking, how exactly did you know he was here?"

They gathered around the table where another plate was served for Janson's unexpected arrival. The orange juice was a bit too strong for Thomas to get used to, but the scones and deviled eggs were a delight on his tongue. He watched Janson eat, his movements graceful and experienced. Thomas wondered if this wasn't Janson's first time on the surface. And if it wasn't, what did the octopus do here when he wasn't causing trouble beneath the sea?

"The town talks, your majesty." The bastard smiled amiably. "Did you not take the boy out on an extravagant tour yesterday?" He took a careful sip of his hot tea. "Imagine my surprise when I saw him in your presence. How relived and… grateful… I felt."

Minho's eyes narrowed. "Yeah? Then how come he was stark naked, passed out on the beach?"

Janson gave Minho a cool look. "My son is very troubled. I left him alone for only a second, he was gone before I returned."

Thomas clenched his jaw. He glanced at the others, hopeful of their doubts. He was grateful for the skepticism on their faces, but still, anxiety gnawed at his nerves. Janson was a tricky bastard. He didn't want Minho and Newt to suffer by the Warlock's hands.

* * *

He cornered the bastard the moment breakfast was ver. Janson watched him in amusement as he angrily mouthed out his questions.

"Oh please Thomas, use your voice why don't you? I don't understand what you're trying to say. Oh wait, you can't." He icy blue eyes lit up in mirth. He chuckled.

Thomas grew incensed.

 _What are you doing here?!_ He mouthed again. _We had a deal!_

Janson's expression turned sinister. "Thomas, Thomas, you seem to have forgotten a rule with me." He leaned close to the boy, a malicious glint in his eyes. "A deal is only a deal as long as their proof of it. Verbal deals are simply just that, _verbal_ and, therefore, _not binding._ Considering you did not sign a contract with me or ask for one to be made, I am within my rights to come and collect."

Thomas reeled back, outraged and horrified.

 _You can't collect on a deal that doesn't exist!_ He shot back vehemently.

"You seem to be mistaken. You came to me for a way to the surface. I have given you that. We did not sign a deal, therefore, you used my magic for your own means and did not offer a form a repayment." Thomas opened his mouth, ready for a silent retaliation, but Janson held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Your voice was only in exchange for your legs. I've come to collect something that would be worth its weight in the magic you have taken from me.

You see, humans carry something very precious that is only unique to them. It is a very valuable substance, one I would like to contain. They call it a soul. We of the sea do not carry souls, rather tragic really, but that's why I'm here. Once you die, your soul will be mine. I've only come to speed up the process." He grinned. "Enjoy the rest of your time, Thomas. For what I can tell, it isn't long."

Thomas watched him go, his heart breaking with every step.

Janson kept to himself during his stay and Thomas wasn't sure how he felt about it. He kept jumping between being grateful for the creature's elusiveness, but also paranoid by the strange silence. It tortured him, not knowing what Janson was up to. Did the man plan on poisoning him to claim his soul? Or did he mean to wait it out; was Thomas meant to kill himself on purpose or on accident?

* * *

The octopus was hard to find most times, his disappearance often a sore spot to Minho, who didn't trust the warlock for a second. Newt seemed to agree, but as Prince, Thomas understood why Newt remained cordial whenever Janson showed his annoying face. It was something he liked from them. Newt and Minho had reputations to uphold; Newt as the prince and Minho his trusted guard. The fact that Janson made them both so irritable warmed Thomas' heart.

(And it ached him to know there would come a time he might not see them again.)

He spent all the time he could with them, just for their company. Thomas taught himself their words while Newt signed off on important documents. Minho stood off to the side, sometimes watching them work, other times cracking jokes when Newt showed signs of stress. But usually, Minho helped Thomas read and write.

He learned how to write his name in their language. Then he learned how to write theirs. It may have been such a simple task for Minho and Newt, but to Thomas, it meant the world. Tears poured from his eyes again, but they did not fret; they simple watched.

"You're something else Thomas," Minho sighed. He pulled the boy into his arms, uncaring of the tears that leaked from the brunet's eyes. "You're too cute, y'know?"

Newt watched, a small, secretive smile on his lips.

* * *

The pain in his legs was unbearable. It didn't matter what he did to relieve the tension, the muscles in his legs felt like they were on fire. Thomas spent a good majority of his bath massaging his prickling calves. Cool water eased the agony, but the relief was temporary. He but back the tears, tired of his body's reaction and angry at Janson for finding a loophole in their so called "deal".

He should have been more careful.

He shouldn't have allowed Chuck to lead him to the bastard, but despite the circumstance, Thomas didn't regret his decision. Meeting Minho and Newt had been the best thing in his life.

He only wished they had more time.

He struggled out of the tub and made the painful transition for bed.

He dreamt of Teresa and Chuck that night, as well as his mother and what her reaction would be to his disappearance. He dreamt of Alby and the rest of his siblings, the worry they must have felt, but also the judgment he expected from them. They didn't know much about his obsession with the surface world, but it wasn't like Thomas put much of an effort to keep his interests to himself. He wasn't a fool to believe they respected his hobbies. Oh no, he knew they joked. He knew Rachel and Harriet thought he was crazy for obsessing with the humans. He knew Aris disapproved just as much as Teresa did. He could already hear their comments in his dreams, but their judgment did not lessen his homesickness.

He missed them dearly.

* * *

"Something's wrong." Minho stated, his voice harsh in the silence.

Newt watched his face from his desk, the knight wearing a tear on his marble floor.

"I can't put my finger on it, but there's something fishy going on here. Literally, Newt. I swear on my life Thomas had fins before. I don't know what he did to get legs but I have a bad feeling it has something to do with that Janson shank."

"I don't trust him either, Minho." Newt frowned. "Tommy hasn't been himself since he came around."

"And that whole spiel about them being father and son? Shuck it! Janson's got an interest in Thomas and it's really starting to piss me off."

"He's not going to get Tommy, Minho."

Minho turned to Newt, dark eyes sharp. Dangerous.

"Hell no he's not. Say the word Newt. I'll have that shank locked up before he can say rat man."

"You know that's not how it works, Min. I can't have an innocent man thrown in jail for something he hasn't done."

"Yet." The dark haired male scowled. "I'm _not_ going to sit by and let that _creep_ get away with whatever he's plotting against Thomas! It could be too late if we sit idly by, Newt. We _can't._ Thomas isn't himself lately – it has to be because of Janson!"

"I know you're concerned Minho, but what can I do? As Prince, I have to abide by the rules."

Minho whirled on him, slamming his palms flat against the mahogany desk so hard it rattled the contents on the table.

"You _are_ the rules!" He snapped, his face so close Newt could see the dark chocolate coloring of his irises. "Don't tell me there's nothing you can do, Newt, because there is. There's _so much you can do!_ "

Newt stared deeply into the knight's eyes, searching for something he couldn't name. Minho never broke their gaze, even when Newt's long fingers cupped his cheeks and brought him close enough for the Prince to press a gentle kiss against his wrinkled temple.

"You really like him, don't you?" He heard the blond whisper.

Minho's eyes fluttered shut, a broken sigh escaping his plump lips. "As much as I like you."

"Yeah. Me too." Newt pulled away, his expression pensive. "We'll keep an eye on them both. If Janson steps out of line, I give you full permission to lock him up."

It wasn't much, but Minho would take what he could get.

* * *

Thomas found solace in the sea. He dipped his sore legs into the salty ocean and heaved a sigh of relief as the water washed over his sandy toes. It had taken him a lot of time and energy just to come out here.

It was so dark, the light of the castle had been his only guiding light to the beach, but now that he had gained a considerable amount of distance from it, the light of the moon guided him the rest of the way.

He had never considered it before, but he understood why the humans feared the sea and why that fear fueled their obsession to conquer it. The vast openness of the horizon was intimidating in the dark, the unknowns beneath the black depths a worse fate than the never ending distance. He could never fear his home. He knew what lay beneath the black, knew the kinds of monsters the humans feared - they were his friends. His family.

The ocean was his home, a place he felt safe and loved, but restricted and forgotten.

He was dying.

He felt it in his bones; the way his muscles screamed in agony with every step he took. The air in his lungs waning; his blood like mush. Dirt in his veins. He would fade from this world, like foam in the sea; nothing more than a specter who barely got to live.

It just wasn't fair.

"Thomas?"

His eyes snapped open, the voice barely a whisper in the wind. He called out to the darkness, the familiar name on his tongue, not no sound followed his words. He watched the silent sea until a ripple in the light caught his eye and there, poking through the surface was Teresa.

He mouthed her name and ran into the cold ocean with loud splashes the droplets soaked into his pajama pants.

She pulled away, blue eyes cautious. Terrified.

Thomas felt his heart break.

 _Teresa it's me!_ He pleaded mutely. _Please, don't you recognize me?_

She didn't move or hide away. She simply floated there, watching his movements like a startled animal ready to bolt on the first signs of a threat. It broke him further to see the terror in her eyes. She couldn't believe what she saw… or she was disgusted by his betrayal. To choose humanity over merfolk; to mutilate his gorgeous fins for ugly legs – Thomas didn't know what she was thinking, but the fear in her eyes, the thin layer of disgust marring her face, it told him everything he needed to know. And it broke him. She dipped beneath the water without a word.

Thomas sagged. He was weary and cold, his body pained by this unnatural existence. To see his best friend again before it all ended had brought him hope, and although they didn't speak, Thomas was still relieved to see her again.

 _Take care of Chuck for me sis._ He wished in his mind. _I won't be able to tell him goodbye._

He turned back to the sandy beach, Teresa's horrified eyes seared into his mind.

* * *

His condition worsened as the days went on. Thomas could feel his energy drain day by day, menial tasks became monumental. Walking became a chore, eating a worse one. He had to put a stop to his studies, his mind no longer able to focus. Things he could do on his own required Newt or Minho to aid him. And the worst part was he knew they knew.

They stayed by his side, even when the fever took hold of his body, rendering him useless and weak. He vaguely registered the blond's cool fingers brush aside his sweaty bangs, or the cold metal cup Newt held to his cracked, dry lips. Thomas barely had enough energy to drink the refreshing liquid that chilled his sore, burning body.

"I'm afraid his time is limited," Janson sighed.

Minho whirled on the man with eyes burning fire.

"What did you do?!" He screeched, ready to body slam the creep.

"I'm sorry Sir Minho, I know this is very hard to swallow. My son was born of frail heart and body, he was always a sick child. Now is no different."

"He only got sick when _you_ came!" Minho hissed, spittle flying from his mouth. "What did you do?!"

"Minho!" Newt chided. "Yelling isn't going to change anything."

Minho pulled away from Janson, his dark eyes burning. He took his place by Newt's side, anxiously watching Thomas' frail body.

"He's right Min," the blond whispered. "Tommy isn't going to make it."

A muscle in Minho's jaw clenched. "The ocean." He murmured thickly. "Let's take him to the ocean. He should…" Minho swallowed. "He should be around something familiar."

The day was beautiful. The skies were blue, the weather clam and full of life. The wind smelled like the sea and Thomas…

He felt at home.

They carried him into the cool waters, their footsteps splashing through the tide.

(Janson watched in boredom, eyeing the sun's movements for the time.)

They didn't stop until they were waist deep, the waters calm and soothing; the wind a gentle caress. Thomas allowed himself to float, the salty liquid a loving embrace to his decaying body.

He wished he could thank them for all they had done. He wanted to put his gratitude into words, but his experience with them had taught him something valuable. He didn't need to speak to reach their hearts. He gave them both a frail, gentle kiss, brown eyes filled with all the words he could not express.

 _If I'm going to die today… please… let it be in their arms…_

Newt leaned into his side, his pointed nose brushing along his ear. "We didn't get to know each other for long, but I feel like I've known you for all my life."

Minho barked out a watery laugh, the sound harsh in the calm ocean scenery.

"Don't start saying sappy klunk now, Newt. You might kill Tommy faster."

Thomas forced himself to grin, despite the grief that filled him. He pulled them closer to his body, relishing in their warmth; their scents. The way their voices sounded, the way their clothes felt in his hands. Memories of the past few days flashed into mind; their laughter, their jokes; the taste of their food and their kindness. The generosity they had expressed.

He thought of Teresa and Chuck, of Aris and Rachel; Alby and the coronation ceremony he missed; how he never got to apologize for missing it. He thought of his mother, who he had never said goodbye to and how she would never understand what had become of her son. He thought of his father, who had often scolded him for his human curiosities, and who would, despite the sickness destroying his body, still find a way to call Thomas a fool. It was enduring, in a tragic way, how his sick father's words warmed his weakening heart.

He'd been right, Thomas really was a fool, but he didn't regret a second of it.

Thomas closed his eyes and leaned into their embrace. He felt the sun warm against his face, the wind a gentle breeze. They held him tightly, the stretch of silence thick with sorrow and dread. They held him until his arms went slack around their shoulders and his weight grew heavy they nearly struggled.

They held onto him until the last breath that heaved from his chest escaped into a soft, peaceful sigh, the only sound they had ever heard escape his lips.

Minho fought back against the tears, resisting the urge to break in front of his lover and companion, but Newt allowed his tears to run, unashamed.

Newt leaned into the limp figure's body and pressed a kiss to his temple.

He turned to Minho, torn and broken, and with a final, silent goodbye, they let him fall beneath the waves.

(And Janson watched until the boy had vanished and he too slipped beneath the sea.)

* * *

 ** _Alternate Ending_**

* * *

The boy's body wasn't worth much save for being a temporary vessel for his soul. Janson happily extracted the tiny, luminescent ball of light into a golden shell he had constructed specifically for this purpose. Most creatures under the sea didn't have souls, but that didn't mean Janson didn't do some harvesting when he could. Humans were very valuable, even in death, and carrying the soul of a former merman, the last born child of his rival; a boy who's whole life had been spent on curiosity and obsession – that had to be worth something.

(And how delicious it was to know that Janson had captured the soul of his rival's youngest son. He debated storming the palace and gloating in front of the ailing former king, but he had heard rumors of the new king being rather annoyingly difficult to deal with.)

Janson eyed the golden spiral shell in his hand, the soul's bright light illuminated it's golden exterior. He turned to the fallen body he held onto by the ankle with a tentacle, a sinister smile forming on his thin lips.

"Humans are so dramatic, don't you think Thomas?" He laughed. "You took forever to die, you know. I expected you to flop two days after my arrival, but no. Oh no, _you_ hung on stubbornly until the very end." He sighed. He shook his head as though pitying the boy for his faults. "And then _those_ humans – bah! Sentiment is so disgusting."

"No matter," he turned, clutching the golden shell tightly in his fist. "Your body is no longer useful to me, but it may provide food for my pets. See, they've been dying to eat _something_ for ages now." He chortled darkly.

He took one last look at the boy's still, floating body, his chest suddenly filled with glee. He wanted to desperately show the former king why he and his people should never have banished him, but such a task would be so trivial… and dangerous. Without a proper means of protection, Janson would get himself killed – and death would simply not do.

He made to return back to his caves on the outskirts of the kingdom when a golden, obnoxious light blinded him. He reeled back with a snarl, his tentacles folding upward to shield him. He clutched onto the spiral shell tightly, feeling the heat of Thomas' human soul radiate within his palm. It seemed to beat like a heart in its resting place.

Teresa and Alby stood before the warlock, a golden trident pointed directly beneath Janson's face, its golden shine hot and hummed with power. Teresa's black hair whipped around her head like a black halo, her azure colored eyes as cold as the icebergs in the north.

"Hand me my brother or so help me, I will turn you into a guppy." Alby growled. The trident hummed with the threat, the small space between him and the weapon sizzled with heat.

"I'm afraid I can't do that your majesty." Janson sneered. He pulled away to relieve himself of the heat, but Alby and Teresa moved forward, shoving that irritable weapon closer. Janson gritted his teeth. "You see, Thomas and I had an agreement. His voice for humanity. Is it truly my fault his body had been too frail?"

"It is when you make it so!" Teresa snapped. "You're nothing but a cruel, spiteful creature who took advantage of our brother's weakness!"

"Don't play games, Janson." Alby spat, dark eyes steely. "One of my faithful denizens has already confessed to your crimes. You had no agreement with Thomas, you tricked him and you killed him. Now hand over his body and his soul!"

"Now, now, your majesty, I cannot simply do that." Janson sighed dramatically. "I don't know what that fish told you, but Thomas and I had a legal, binding agreement. His voice for his humanity. His death had been nothing but a miscalculation."

"Liar!" Teresa screeched again, but Alby held her back, one muscular dark skinned arm stretched out across her torso.

He kept his eyes on Janson, his weapon pointed straight to the creature's jugular. He furrowed his brows.

"There was no legal binding agreement, Janson." The King stated flatly. "And that soul doesn't belong to you."

Without warning, Alby slammed the trident into the creature's shoulder. His skin sizzled and burned beneath the heated metal; Janson screamed, caught off guard by the attack. One tentacle loosened its grip around Thomas' ankle as it curled inward in pain with the rest of its brethren. Teresa swam to catch the floating body, pulling it back as quickly as she could.

Alby shot a beam of energy into Janson's other arm and snatched the golden trinket from the warlock's hands before the creature could react.

Janson howled in agony, his skin scorched and wounded; blood pooled the water around them, soiling the salt on their tongues.

"You little—!"

Alby pointed the trident back toward his jugular, the golden spiral shell humming harshly in his hands. "You're lucky that's all I did for the crimes you've committed against my family, Janson!" The king spat. "I'll let you go for now, but mark my words, my army will come for you. If you _dare_ attack my family and friends again, I will destroy you."

Janson clenched his jaw, rage bubbling beneath his skin. He swam away in a hurry, leaving behind a trail of blood and ink at his wake. It wasn't over by a long shot, but Alby was prepared, even if it meant taking his soldiers to war against the warlock.

Teresa held her half-brother close, her eyes wide in a desperate plea.

"Alby please. His soul."

"Let's take him to the surface."

"Alby…" She croaked.

He said nothing. He grabbed a hold of his brother's hand and swam to the surface.

* * *

Thomas woke up to the soothing sound of the churning waves and the fresh scent of the salty sea air. Opening his eyes, he saw the familiar sight of Minho and Newt crouched over him, their expressions hard to read, but their eyes were glassy with tears.

He licked his dry lips, his throat raw and scratchy, like he hadn't had a proper drink in days. He wasn't sure what compelled him to speak, but he opened his mouth and carefully, he said, "Hey."

Newt gave him a thousand watt smile. "Right back at ya, Tommy."

Minho wiped something discretely from the corner of his eye. "You mer-folk and your crazy voodoo fish magic." He choked. "I swear. One of these days, we're going to have a sit down and you're going to explain exactly what happened for… for _this_ —" He gestured at Thomas' frame. "—to happen."

Thomas laughed. He didn't understand what Minho was referring to and perhaps it would be _them_ explaining to him once they were able to, but Thomas felt… grateful for this miracle.

And somehow, he felt Teresa had been responsible for this second chance at life.

* * *

She watched them behind the rocks; Alby close behind. He laid a gentle hand against her pale, freckled shoulder, his large palms till warm from the glowing shell that once housed their brother's soul.

"I'll be okay," She whispered. She turned to him, a smile on her face. "Thank you."

Alby snorted. "You can properly thank me by cleaning up my room."

She scowled. "Ugh! Seriously?"

The King grinned mischievously. "Seriously. Come on. Let's give them some privacy. We'll bug Thomas later after we alert the soldiers."

Teresa stole once last glance of her brother and his human companions before she disappeared beneath the waves, a small tender smile still on her lips.


	3. Tangled (Newtmas)

_morganthewriter on tumblr requested a Newtmas version of Tangled with bookverse Newt._

 _Decided to give it a little twist in order to fit with Thomas's personality and make it different than the thominewt request before it._

* * *

 ** _Tangled (Newtmas)_**

* * *

Life in the tower was the same monotonous thing. Every day, Thomas would awaken at the rise of dawn and clean the room from ceiling to floor. He'd dust his shelves, wipe down the stone walls and mop the wooden floors. He'd hand wash his clothes and bed sheets then hang them out the window to dry in the rays of the sun. And every day, he would cook for his father: a big breakfast in the morning, a meal at lunch and a small dinner before bed. They hadn't much in ways of food, as Janson only brought what he could find, but Thomas made do. He'd gotten rather creative when it came to cooking, but then again, he was rather creative in various other ways too.

When the chores were done, Thomas found entertainment in reading or painting the walls of his tower. His favorite canvas was the wall above his bed, often coating the dingy unappealing stones with a vast array of gorgeous colors. He kept his murals up for the day, sometimes for another – if he really liked it – but usually Thomas would paint over the canvas with white paint in preparation for tomorrow's inspiration.

Sometimes, when his father was gone for longer periods of time, he'd return with an arsenal of new books or an instrument to learn.

Thomas once spent weeks learning how to play the flute. When he had finally mastered it, he would play songs for his father. Some were one's he had created while most came from the music books on his shelves. When ink was available for the quill-pens he used, Thomas would write down his new creations and practice them every day until recalling them was as easy as breathing.

Janson preferred the harp or the lute.

When nights were longer and the air cool they would sit by the fire place in the lone watch tower and listen to the soft sounds of the strings as Thomas played. Sometimes, Janson would teach him songs he heard on his travels or buy him new wires for his instruments. It was much easier to get than paint at least – and much less expensive.

Yet, despite the music he created; despite painting the walls or reading about worlds that existed beyond his home, Thomas found, most often than not, that he dreamed of seeing the castle in the distance. It was a small speck within the horizon, something so minuscule, the only way he could see it was through the small telescope his father had given him on his 10th birthday.

Every year on his birthday, the small castle would light up the dark night sky. Like the fireflies down below, small balls of light would flicker to life high in the evening sky. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, all gathered in the night like a cluster of stars. It took his breath away. But every year, as his birthday drew near, Thomas would ask his father if they could see the lights. And every year, Janson would pat his head, his long fingers smooth winding around his long tresses of hair. He would smile, warm and sweet, yet somehow perilous and say, "No."

His answer was expected. Thomas had already come to an understanding about his father. When the man said no, he meant it, but Thomas was stubborn. With his 18th birthday just around the corner, the brunet had already devised a plan. This year, when Janson would leave on another trip to retrieved Thomas's gift, Thomas would make a trip of his own. He studied enough about the night sky to be able to map the castles location from the tower. He would leave the same day his father would and trek the journey to the kingdom in time to catch the beauty of the lights. He would return before his father and continue on as though he had never left. All he had to do was make Janson journey far enough.

"Are you sure that's what you want for your birthday?" Janson asked as he fastened the buckle on his cloak. "It'll take me a few days – three to four at max. That's the longest we've been apart. Are you sure you want this lute for your birthday, Thomas?"

"I'm sure," the boy beamed. He handed his father a bag of supplies for the journey and gave him a tight hug. "The lute is my favorite instrument to play. How else am I going to play you the song I wrote if I don't have the proper instrument?"

"You had a proper instrument." His father pointed out.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Yeah, until it broke."

"You've yet to tell me how."

"It's broken, that's all. Please, I really want this new lute."

Janson sighed, defeated by those pleading chocolate brown eyes. "Very well. Take care and stay inside. Don't let anyone in—" He rattled off, only for Thomas to wave his concerns away.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll be fine."

Janson laid a tender hand against his shoulder, blue eyes soft. "I will see you soon." He pressed a kiss to his son's temple then hurried down the length of Thomas's chestnut hair.

Thomas watched him disappear into the foliage of the forest, the sun setting beyond the mountains.

* * *

It took him a shameful amount of time to prepare a knapsack for his journey. Despite a week of planning his grand escape, Thomas was loath to admit he never thought much about what he would bring with him. Food and water were a given, it'd been the first things he packed, but everything else he wasn't sure. Luxuries like clothes and a blanket to keep warm in the nights had crossed his mind, but did he want to risk carrying all that unnecessary weight? He'd only be gone for a few days. Did he want to bring anything else?

In the end, he opted to go light. He packed another spare change of clothes, a compass in case the stars couldn't help him and some gold jewelry his father had given him from previous birthdays in exchange for currency. The less he carried, the easier it would be to travel to and from the kingdom. If he could acquire a horse, the better.

Thomas secured a cloak over his shoulders, his long hair a nuisance. (The amount of times he wanted to cut his hair was unimaginable, but Janson had made it perfectly clear: if Thomas ever were to cut his hair, his father would kill him. Plain and simple.) He slipped on a pair of old leather boots – a hand me down from his father that remarkably still fit – and grabbed a small iron frying pan for safety. (He preferred a knife, but Janson had a bad habit of locking up their knives before every journey.)

With his hair rolled up and ready, he threw the length over the hook installed above his window and watched with mild fascination as it unfurled to the dark earth below. He grabbed a fistful, and with a deep breath, jumped out into the night.

He got lost within ten minutes.

* * *

Without a candle to light his way – an annoying mistake his berated himself for – or the glimmering lights of the stars and moon, Thomas stumbled around in the dark, frying pan clutched tightly in hand. The forest was quiet save for the hooting howls and the chorus of crickets. It was hard to catch the sound of twigs snapping beneath his feet, the mating call of the crickets loud and uproarious, but his eyes adjusted to the darkness soon enough. He needed a glimpse of the sky to foretell his location, the towering trees nothing more than a hindrance.

Something snapped in front of him, the sound of leaves rustling and twigs cracking filling the air. Thomas raised the frying pan, his heart hammering in panic. The frying pan wouldn't do much in face of a bear, but it could scare off a stag or a smaller animal if he smacked it hard enough. The rustling picked up over the cacophony of crickets. Thomas took a step back, fear filling his veins.

He didn't have a chance to call out.

Someone burst through the bushes, colliding hard against the unsuspecting boy. They crashed to the ground in a messy pile of limbs, the air squeezed right out of Thomas's lungs. Distantly, Thomas heard the neighing of horses and the loud yelling of others nearby.

"Bloody hell," the stranger on top of him groaned. Thomas blinked. A boy?

"Wha–?" He tried, but the stranger clamped a sweaty palm against his mouth with a hush.

It was hard to make him out in the dark. If he weren't so close, Thomas doubted he would have seen him at all. The stranger was young, around his age or a little older, with sharp bright eyes that scanned the darkness for any sign of his pursuers. His hair was light, even in the dark and his jawline strong and sharp. His hair cascaded down his face, short enough that it barely grazed Thomas's cheeks.

Thomas felt his heart skip a beat. This boy was attractive – and that was just in the dark. He didn't want to know how he really looked when the sun was high in the sky.

"C'mon, c'mon," The stranger murmured, his brows furrowed. "Keep goin' ya shanks. Keep goin'."

Thomas heard the voices fade, the low whining of their horses vanishing amongst the symphony of crickets. His nameless stranger grinned in triumph, his smile dazzling in the darkness.

"Sorry 'bout that mate," the boy said. He climbed off of Thomas and held out a hand. Thomas took it, making note of their size difference. This boy's hand was bigger than his.

The handsome stranger grinned the moment Thomas was on his feet again. Shoot – he was taller too.

"Name's Newt. What's a pretty girl like you doin' out in the dark forest? Don't you know it's dangerous?"

Thomas bristled in indignation.

"First of all, I'm a guy." He growled threateningly. Newt's expression didn't change. In fact, he looked more amused than anything. "Secondly, I can handle myself, thank you very much. " Newt raised his hands in a placating gesture, humoring him. It made Thomas want to punch him. "And thirdly, where I'm going is none of your business!"

"Good that," Newt shrugged. He grabbed his bag from the floor – it must have fallen during their collision – and hoisted it over his broad shoulders. "That's somethin' we have in common – we've got places to be and no time to dally. Here's a tip for ya: don't die, okay?" He brushed past the brunet, his burly arms barely caressing Thomas's when he suddenly stopped. He turned to Thomas then, brows raised in curiosity. "I didn't catch your name, stranger."

Thomas grabbed his fallen bag from the ground, a part of him feeling the strange lightness of his bag. His frying pan was still on the ground, nearly lost in the vegetation.

"My name is Thomas." He replied, crouching to pick up the cooking utensil. "And thanks for the tip. I'll try not to."

He hoisted the pan off the ground and turned to go, disappearing into the night.

Newt watched him, a glimmer of amusement shining in his eyes.


	4. Cinderella (Newtmas)

_Request for newtmos and i-will-follow-the-music on tumblr._

 _For the record, I am not proud of how I made Brenda and Teresa in this. And Ava Paige. I love them all, but they seemed to be the perfect matches for the roles I gave them._

* * *

 ** _Cinderella (Newtmas)_**

* * *

Thomas didn't ask much in life. All he wanted was to stay healthy for his mother's sake; peace and quiet for when his step-sisters were loud and obnoxious – and most of all: happiness for his sanity. He promised his mother before she died he would treat others the way he would want to be treated.

When his father re-married he came close to breaking his promise. His step-sisters were cruel and cold, Ava had spoiled them rotten since birth. She gave them anything they could ask for, and when she couldn't she made a promise that she would one day or another.

That one promise happened to be a marriage into a rich family or so Teresa used to boast. After Thomas's father past – killed in an unfortunate accident during one of his travels – all of their family fortune was passed down to Ava Paige, his widow by law. Thomas had no say, not until his eighteen birthday, but by then what would be left of his family's fortune?

Thomas didn't care. Money wouldn't bring back his parents. Money wouldn't save him from his step-mother's cruelty and neglect. All that money did was tear them apart. It made Ava a hard, uncaring woman who used her charm to manipulate every person she saw. And her children, who perhaps could have grown up to be astounding women, were just like her: egotistical, unpleasant and rude. Any day he spent in their company was like walking through the circles of Hell, but not tonight.

Tonight would be different.

Today was the prince's birthday and the palace was holding an open ball for all to attend. The invitations had been set out a month in advance, the announcement, weeks before that. Everyone was meant to attend, including poor Thomas, who watched in resentment as the Royal Guard handed Ava their personal invitations.

Hope was not yet lost, however. She had yet to rip up his invitation.

All he had to do was make sure his chores were done before tonight. He spent weeks since the announcement making a tuxedo from the party, having not wanted to disturb Ava with the need of borrowing money. (God forbid he asked. If it wasn't for food for them or the animals, she would have his head.) It was the finest thing he had ever tailored, even better than the stupid dress he made for Teresa on her sixteenth birthday. It would be a shame if he couldn't wear it, especially after all the blood, sweat and tears he'd poured into the outfit.

"Oh goodness gracious Mother," Teresa huffed. Her long fingers dug into her bird's nest hair, the usually silk tresses a mangy mess from a night's good sleep. "How do you expect me to look my best when I wake up every morning looking like a haggard old witch? Didn't we put in for a hair appointment yesterday?"

Her sister Brenda laughed, the sound pitched and penetrating, it made Thomas cringe. "You should have cut your hair when you had the chance Resa, like I did." She made a show of running her fingers through the short fringes of her chocolate brown hair, the shorter ends spiking upwards with the movement. "It's much easier to maintain than your mangled mess."

Teresa scowled, blue eyes livid. She flipped a lock of black hair over her shoulder and smiled maliciously when her hair smacked Brenda in the face.

"Oh please! And when the prince decides to dance with me because I look more feminine than you, I'll be sure to rub it in your face every time he spins me around."

"I don't know about that Resa," the girl sighed, round face smirking. "I've heard _rumors_ 'bout good ol' Prince Isaac."

"Girls!" Ava snapped before Teresa could bristle. "Control yourselves. This behavior will _not_ be tolerated at the breakfast table. If we ever want to get in with the royal family, we must present ourselves with dignity and refinement. That means – no squabbling like uncivilized heathens!"

Thomas suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. _Too late for that._ He thought rather sadistically.

He gathered their dirty plates in silence, ignoring Teresa's barely contained anger and Ava's penetrating pale blue eyes. He turned away, grateful to get away from her gaze and tossed the plates carefully into the sink for a wash. He heard her chair scrape along the wooden floor, the sound grating on his ears.

"Come now girls. We have a day full of errands to accomplish. Dresses to pick up, hair to get done, make up to apply." Ava sighed wistfully, as though she weren't enjoying the fact she was going to parade her children around to a bunch of old rich men at the party. "You want to look your very best for Prince Isaac's birthday now, don't you girls?"

"Yes mother." They droned.

"Excellent. Thomas!" Thomas felt his muscles tense, his irritation thinly veiled. He quickly calmed his nerves then spun to face his step-mother, still dressed in her white night gown. "Make sure you have dinner ready for us when we return. If you wish to join us, you better have all your chores done before then. Remember child, I still have your invitation in my hands." She smiled sickeningly sweet at the unfair reminder then spun on her heel, exiting the room.

* * *

Once they were gone, Thomas flew into overdrive. He cleaned up the kitchen, fed the animals and swept the floors. He mopped the entry way, washed the day's dirt from the windows and found enough time to dust off the forgotten nick-knacks on the shelves. He collected their clean laundry, having taken the precaution of washing it the day before and folded everything to near perfection. He prepared the make-up kits in his sisters' bedroom, setting out the proper color combinations for the color of their dresses. He had done the same for his step-mother. He even went so far as to pull out her best and most expensive perfume from her collection.

When he was finished, Thomas realized, rather giddily if he were honest with himself, that he had just enough time to apply the finishing touches to his tuxedo. He hurried up the flight of the stairs to his bedroom in the attic and immediately set out to work. He only had thirty minutes before he needed to get dinner ready for the wit—his step-mother and sisters.

* * *

They ate like pigs – worse than pigs actually. (Thomas felt bad for insulting the pigs they had in the backyard.) What's worse, Thomas knew they were doing this on purpose. The girls ate beyond their proportions. They inhaled their food in a disgusting flurry of movement. Bits and pieces of their meal rolled off the table and onto the floor; their utensils scraping along the porcelain of their plates, filling the air with that horrifying screech. Worse still, he knew the messier they ate, the more he had to clean once they were done.

He'd been determined to get his chores done, even one as last minute as this, but Teresa and Brenda dragged him away before he had the chance to grab their plates.

He wasted an hour of his life listening to them complain about the tightness of their dresses or how bloated they felt after stuffing their faces like unrefined cows. (Again, he felt bad for insulting the cows.) He was grateful all he had to do was get them into their dresses. If he had to apply their make-up, he was going to poke their eyes out, he swore it.

Thomas hoped Ava wouldn't call him out for the dishes he had yet to clean.

He ran to his room the moment he was free from their wicked clutches and made haste to get ready.

"Come on girls!" Ava called from downstairs. "The carriage is waiting!"

Teresa and Brenda nearly tripped down the stairs in their haste. Walking in heels was an elegant task, one Thomas did not envy them for. Watching them stumble like a baby foal down the stairs, their dresses obnoxiously wide and poufy, made him want to burst into laughter. If there was anything good from tonight, it was the sight of his step-sisters looking like utter fools.

Thomas followed behind, proud of his handmade tuxedo. The blazer was his favorite creation – maroon in color and soft to the touch. His slacks were black, the dress shirt underneath a pearly white. The tie he wore matched his pants, onyx and clean. His shoes were freshly waxed and shined brightly beneath the chandelier light. His hair was brushed back, to keep his bangs out of his eyes and the sweat from the day washed from his face. He knew he looked amazing, felt it with every step he took.

Ava's eyes watched him like a hawk, her thin blond eyebrows raised high to her hairline. Teresa and Brenda traced the length of his body, slow and uncomfortable. Brenda's brows raised upward, just like her mother, her dark eyes wide. She too was impressed. They were all stunned speechless. He felt smug with their reaction.

Teresa suddenly laughed.

"You can't be serious Tom. We can't let you go to the ball."

Thomas felt the air evaporate from his lungs. "What do you mean I can't go? I have an invitation!"

"The invitation is only for the main family of the house silly." She snorted, rolling her icy eyes. "As far as we're aware, you're our maid, _not_ family."

Thomas felt his face flare up in heat, his nails biting into his palms.

"My father _married_ your mother, Teresa. By law, I'm your brother!" He turned a pleading look toward Ava, a part of him shamed for daring to show her any sign of weakness. "Step-mother please! You said I could go if I got all my chores done before the ball."

"But you didn't." Brenda announced, her tone dull. She looked rather bored with the whole situation, choosing instead to inspect her painted fingernails than at the scene before her. "Did you clean up the mess in the kitchen from dinner? I don't think so."

Thomas gawked in ire. He opened his mouth to retort, but Ava held up her hand, her face severe.

"Is that true Thomas? Have you skipped out on your chores?"

"No!" He snapped harshly. "I did everything you wanted me to do!"

"Except for the mess in the kitchen, Mother." Teresa sighed tragically. "He's such a delinquent! However do we deal with him?"

"It's a terrible circumstance," Brenda nodded, her expression pitiful. "It's so hard to find good help these days."

"I did everything that was asked!" Thomas tried again, face red with indignation. "Please Ava, I didn't clean the dishes yet but—"

"That's enough Thomas."

Thomas snapped his mouth shut, distressed with his own obedience. Ava pulled out the invitations from her purse, a ticket for every member in the house. She plucked his from the collection, and with a cold, hard look towards him, ripped it to shreds. She blew the pieces from her palms. They fluttered to the floor like a small shower of snowflakes. She slipped the remaining tickets into her clutch and urged the girls make for the carriage.

Brenda gave Thomas one last sneer before exiting the room, her laughter loud in the night sky.

Teresa stayed behind, her expression oddly blank. Thomas watched her warily, his body trembling with rage. It pained him to know that he believed his step-mother would have an ounce of compassion for him. She was a cruel woman who hated him more than life itself. What made him believe she would grant his wish when all she ever did was make him miserable?

"Oh Tom, I'm so sorry," Teresa sighed.

She approached him slowly, one hand stretched out, the other hidden behind her poufy pink dress. Her fingers traced the length of the maroon lapel, the fabric smooth under her touch. It had taken him ages to get the proper materials to make his blazer. He'd been lucky Jorge, the tailor in town, liked him so much to give him the material for free.

"It's really impressive," she continued, voice sickeningly sweet. "I can't imagine all the hours of work you put into this. It's quite nice, better than most I've seen. But you know what would make it even better?"

She shoved something into his stomach, cold and wet against the fabric. There was a clatter as something heavy crashed to the ground between them, splattering dirt, water and glass around his shoes and pants. The house plant Thomas had watered before dinner lay sadly on the ground, its leaves a mangled mess, its pot broken to pieces. Teresa smeared the wet soil against his tuxedo, making sure it stained his blazer and shirt before she flashed him a sweet smile. She planted a kiss on the tip of his nose then hurried out of the room, her heels clanking loudly against the ground.

* * *

Thomas felt broken in a way he didn't think possible. Teresa had always been crueler of the two sisters, yet she had always reserved such cruelty toward others, like her sister Brenda or the men that fondled her during her mother's parties. To think she would ruin the suit he spent weeks sewing, all in an attempt to… to what? Humiliate him? To remind him who was superior in this house?

He shouldn't have felt so surprised and hurt by her actions, but he was. His heart ached, not just for the time he spent on making his tuxedo, but for everything else in the past years of his life.

He longed for his mother again, her kind and warm embrace exactly what he needed at the moment.

He refused to shed the tears that threatened to spill. He wasn't upset about missing the ball, it had only been an excuse for what he truly wanted: a night of freedom from this life. He wanted, more than anything, to pretend he was somewhere else, to _be_ someone else. But like everything else in life, the moment he thought he could be happy, Ava found a way to tear it from him. Happiness was a fool's dream it seemed.

The first tear escaped in a blink. He bitterly brushed it aside as he cleaned the dishes, uncaring if the water splashed onto his damaged clothes. The second tear fell from his eyes and into the water. The third shortly followed. Then a fourth. A fifth.

Thomas smashed an iron pot against the sink, ashamed of his weakness. The breath he took sounded like a shuddering sob, his throat constricted in emotion. He slammed a wet fist against the counter, his mind screaming in fury for the unfairness of the world.

What good was it to be kind when the world seemed so inclined to break him down?

"Hit it again bro. I don't think it learned its lesson."

Thomas whirled around in surprise. He grabbed a dirty knife from the sink and pointed it toward the stranger sitting quietly at the table.

It was another boy, dressed in a navy colored suit with a black dress shirt underneath, a plum colored tie around his neck. His black hair was gelled upward in a spike, his eyes crinkled into an amused crescent as he smiled. The dimples were deep in his cheeks. Behind him, shimmering in the light, was a pair of translucent wings, pointed at the edges and delicate to the touch. They reminded him of a fairy's wings, the ones he used to read in fairy tales. On the table, just by his hand, was a long, plain stick.

Thomas blinked, bewildered.

"Sup?" The stranger greeted. "The names Minho and I'll be your Fairy God-Bro this evening."

Thomas blinked again. He felt an unsettling urge to break out laughing.

"Uh," he tried eloquently. "Uh…?"

Minho's grin seemed to stretch wider. "Yeah, I get that a lot. I heard your shank butt crying and decided to help you out. Your sister's a right bitch, ya know?" He pointed his stick toward Thomas' stain, the damage already dry. "You were all set to go to the ball and she goes and does that. You know what we call that in fairy academy? Bitchery. Lucky for you, we have a remedy for bitchery." He flicked his wrist, murmuring words under his breath that Thomas couldn't catch. The stain on Thomas' suit disappeared in an instant, his shirt and blazer dry and clean; his shoes re-polished, his black slacks untouched.

He tugged on his dress shirt, examined where the stain had once been. He gave Minho a look of utter disbelief, curiosity coloring his eyes.

Minho rubbed his chin thoughtfully, eyes squinted in assessment. "Maybe I should've given you a dress. You look like you'd make it work better than your shank sisters."

"I rather not…" Thomas chuckled weakly. He wasn't sure what to make of this kid.

"You sure? 'Cuz like, I've got this one dress that would really—"

"Yeah, I'm sure." He continued, amused. Yeah, he really liked this kid. "Besides, it doesn't matter anyway. It's not like I can go. I don't have a way to get in and I don't have a ride. I won't make it in time."

Minho waved the boy's concerns away as though they were the most trivial things in the world. "Listen dude, what part of Fairy God-Brother are you not understanding? I've got you Thomas. Have faith."

Before Thomas could question how Minho knew his name, the boy waved his wand again. In his hand materialized a new invitation from a vast array of sparkles. It reminded Thomas the way bubbles would appear in champagne.

"Invitation, check. Clean clothes, check. Now for your sweet ride."

He dragged Thomas out into front of the manor where a large, extravagant yellow and gold carriage awaited.

"Pretty sexy right? I borrowed your largest pumpkin for this. I hope you don't mind."

Thomas was flabbergasted. He approached the carriage with an air of caution, one hand extended to feel the hard exterior. It most definitely wasn't an illusion.

Minho's smile was bright in the night.

"Yeah, you like that a lot, huh shank? Only the best for a cutie like you. Now get your klunk behind in there, the balls about to start." He opened the door to make his point clear.

Thomas hesitated.

"How can I ever repay you? This… this is…" He couldn't find the words.

Minho laughed. "You want to repay me? Okay, fine. I'll take two thousand dollars off ya right now."

Thomas choked. "I don't have that kind of money!"

"I'm just kidding!" Minho helped him into the carriage, a devious glint in his eyes. "I'll just take your first born child as repayment."

"What!?"

Minho burst into laughter. He swatted the boy hard on the shoulder, jostling the poor kid. "Shuck it, Thomas! I'm just kidding, jeez. Learn to take a joke." He slammed the door shut on Thomas' face, but quickly reappeared by the window. "Seriously though, I'll come back for your soul tomorrow."

Thomas felt his blood freeze.

"You have until midnight before the magic expires, so get home before then. Have fun!"

* * *

The palace was alive with the sound of music, laughter and chatter. Royals from neighboring kingdoms lingered with the upper class, their attire breathtaking in a way Thomas believed they should be. It was lucky for him the ball was a masquerade, luckier still that Minho had thought to leave him a spare mask to hide his identity from the prying eyes of his step-mother and sisters.

The ballroom was alight with bright lights, the music loud yet pleasant. So many people danced along the ballroom floor. The smiles on their faces warmed him. To see so many strangers from different social standings together in celebration of a common friend was unbelievable. It gave Thomas hope.

Silence fell throughout the court, snapping Thomas out of his haze. Prince Isaac descended onto the floor, his stature tall and poised, blond hair gleaming in the light. The mask he wore was yellow in color, adorned in intricate swirls and beads. His dark eyes were bright beneath the mask, they looked brown rather than black, as Thomas thought them to be.

"Prince Isaac will choose a dance partner."

The girls lined up in barely contained excitement, each one wishing to be the prince's partner. Thomas couldn't suppress the eye roll as he spotted Teresa shoving Brenda aside from the crowd. He watched as the prince scanned the herd of women, a thinly veiled expression of disinterest in his eyes. Prince Isaac turned, his mouth propped open to speak when suddenly his eyes caught Thomas.

Thomas felt his heart quicken.

The prince dawned on a smile. He approached Thomas with long, powerful strides, and bowed before him in respect. The crowd around them broke into a hushed murmur, surprised by the outcome.

"Would you care for dance?"

Thomas stared at the offered hand. He didn't have time to think.

"Yes." He took the prince's gloved palm and followed him to the dance floor.

* * *

They danced to the soft tempo of the musicians. Prince Isaac held onto Thomas's left hand, the other perched casually against his swaying hip. Thomas rested his free hand against the blond's shoulder, mindful of how close to his neck it was. His heart picked up again, a mixture of nerves and _something_ fluttering in his stomach. A part of him feared his step-mother or sisters would see. His suit was noticeable amongst the crowd, most of the commoners wore what they could, which was black ties and suits. The others, those of a higher class, wore attire that could put Thomas to shame, but no one that he saw wore a maroon blazer like him.

He also wondered why, out of all the girls in the ballroom, did the prince choose him?

Other royals joined them in the dance and soon enough, Thomas found comfort in the crowd of dancing bodies. Isaac's lips stretched into a smile.

"You were tense for a while there. I was worried you were uncomfortable dancing with me."

"No," Thomas swallowed nervously. "Just confused. Why me?"

"Why you? Or why a boy?" The prince shrugged. He found Thomas' sheepish expression amusing. "Let's just say I'm not very fond of girls." He chuckled, as though he were laughing at an old joke.

Thomas liked his laugh. It sounded like music to his ears.

"Come on," He urged once the song had come to an end. Prince Isaac laced their fingers together, the gesture surprising, yet gentle. He nudged toward the gardens. "Walk with me?"

Thomas smiled.

* * *

They walked through the gardens under the light of the moon, the music only a distant reminder of where they were meant to be. They spoke of many things on their walk, their family and friends; what they did while they weren't out dancing the night away. Thomas told the prince of his hobbies, the books he liked to read or the horror stories of teaching his step-sisters how to cook. In return, Isaac talked about his hunts and the games he used to play as a child with his older sister. They traded off jokes and laughed at the others' silliness.

They sat down on a bench overlooking the expansive garden, the moon round and bright high above. The night air was cool, but not chilly; the scent of flowers all around. Isaac sat beside Thomas, a daisy in his hand.

"I'd give you the flower if I didn't think you'd find it offensive."

Thomas chuckled. He gazed up at the night sky, too aware of those brown eyes watching him. His cheeks warmed in embarrassment.

"What?" He ducked, grateful the dark hid his blush.

Isaac shook his head. "Nothing. I just… I didn't realize you had moles on your cheeks." He traced them with his thumb, his touch light like feathers. "They form a constellation on your skin. It's cute. Really distinct."

Thomas flushed harder, the heat uncomfortable beneath his mask. He smiled shyly, tugging the ends of his blazer in anxiety.

"Your majesty—"

"Call me Newt."

Thomas stumbled. "N-Newt?" He echoed, feeling dumb.

The blond nodded. "An old family nickname. My sister used to call me that when we were kids. I was, er, very fond of salamanders as a child." He blushed. "It stuck, I suppose."

"Okay," Thomas breathed. "Newt it is."

"And you are? We've spent all this time together and yet, I don't know your name."

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, his words suddenly silenced by the loud chime of the clock tower. Thomas' heart seized in panic. He jumped to his feet, already heading for the door.

"Hey wait!" Newt called trailing after him, his tone desperate and pained. "Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry, I have to go!"

Thomas ran through the palace in a blur. He nearly tripped down the flight of stairs in his haste, but managed to save himself before the fall. Newt was not too far behind, calling out to him in hopes he would stop.

It pained Thomas to flee. He would love nothing more than to stay with the prince in that garden forever if he could, but Minho's words lay heavy on his mind. The magic would expire at the stroke of midnight. He needed to get home and fast.

"Wait! Please! I still don't know your name!"

Thomas scrambled into the carriage just as the vehicle began to move. He poked his head out the window in time to see Newt reach the last step of the palace, his handsome face contorted in pain. The masquerade mask lay forgotten in his hand, having been ripped off in the chase. Thomas kept his mask on, wary of being recognized, but he couldn't leave without telling the prince his name.

"My name is Thomas!" He screamed, suddenly breathless and giddy. "Thank you for everything Newt! I had a blast!"

He watched the prince's face change into relief before he sank back into his seat. Thomas leaned into the red cushions, his stomach fluttering and his heart racing from the excitement. Newt's smile seared into his mind's eye.

* * *

He made it home ten minutes before his step sisters came barreling into the manor. Teresa was terribly livid about the prince's lack of acknowledgment.

"I wore my best perfume for that man!" she shrieked, undoing the pins in her hair. Her ebony locks cascaded down her back in luscious curls. Thomas tried to keep his expression passive throughout her rant, but Prince Isaac – _Newt's –_ glorious smile popped back into his head like a sinful secret.

His face grew hot from the thought.

Brenda's harsh laughter brought him crashing back to reality. "You're so stupid Ressa," the girl sneered. "It's so obvious the prince has a thing for little peasant boys in masks. You never stood a chance."

"Brenda!" Ava snapped, voice sharp. The wrinkles around her eyes were more prominent now that exhaustion and annoyance weighed heavily on her shoulders. She looked so much older than Thomas recalled her being. "Do not speak ill of the prince. The walls have ears."

"Who's gonna hear us, mother?" She scoffed. "The mice? You saw what happened there! The prince is as fruity as the fruit garden in our backyard! The rumors _were_ true."

"I take it the ball was a disaster?" Thomas asked idly.

Teresa, Brenda and Ava turned to him blankly, as though they had just noticed his appearance in the hall. Thomas steeled himself for the backlash. He was still angry and hurt by Teresa's grotesque sabotage of his tuxedo, yet, he already understood there was nothing he could do about it. Exacting revenge against her would only lead him into trouble.

Teresa's painted lips pulled back into a nasty sneer. "It was a waste of everyone's time. You're lucky you didn't go." She hooked up her skirts and shoved past Thomas roughly. "I'm going to bed! What a waste of a perfectly good perfume!" She stormed up the stairs like a cantankerous child and slammed the door shut behind her.

Brenda made a show of rolling her eyes. She followed after her sister, her face weary from the day's events; her body heavy with disappointment. For one sliver of a second, Thomas felt bad for his step-sister. Brenda wasn't nearly as cruel and mean as Teresa. She was the youngest out of the three of them, and, if not for Thomas, he supposed she too would have been just as neglected as he. It was obvious Ava favored Teresa more than Brenda. Tonight has just been another example of why Brenda was just second to her older sister.

He wanted to give the girl some words of comfort, but refrained. As much as he understood what it was like to be considered second best – or forgotten really – Brenda was still prude and harsh with her words. And honestly, he did not regret stealing Newt's attention away.

A small smile tugged at his lips at the thought, but it quickly melted away the moment Ava's eyes fell; on him. He gave his step mother a hearty bow, silently giddy with his sinful secrets.

"Good night step-mother." He quickly hurried away before her dismissal.

She watched him every step of the way.

* * *

He was still in cloud nine a week later. The town was abuzz with news of the Prince's mysterious dance partner – and of the boy's obvious gender. Thomas wasn't surprised by the news, but he was concerned for Newt and how the royal family planned on handling it. Despite the ball, the women in town still swooned for the prince, and the men, who were more bothered by the dance partner, discussed the stranger behind the mask.

Thomas liked hearing their theories, Teresa's imagination was a lot duller in comparison.

He was in the market, picking up a list of ingredients for tonight's dinner, when a series of horns startled him. Thomas was immediately shoved into a stall as a crowd of people formed around the town square.

"S-sorry," he managed, but the merchant he'd been interested in buying from waved his apology away. He too joined the crowd without a word. Thomas opened his mouth to query, but he was suddenly silenced by the loud chorus of shrieking women.

He slapped his hands over his ears in agony.

"Here ye good people of Gladeston," a booming voice resonated from the center of town square. "We have come with news from the Prince!"

Thomas pushed his way through the crowd in an attempt to get a better view. Standing in the center of town, upon a majestic black horse adorned in colors of the Royal family, was Sir Knight Alby. He was accompanied by other members of the King's royal army, each one atop a black horse; their faces were obscured by their helmets.

One horse stood out in particular. Instead of a sooty black like all the others, this horse was white like milk. Its owner wore armor far more elaborate than all the rest, and although he too bore the colors of the royal family Thomas noticed the tale-tell sign of the royal family's insignia etched into his armor. This man was not only a knight, but a very important member of the Royal family.

Thomas' heart began to race. He hoped it wasn't who he believed it to be. Not here. Not right now.

Alby turned to the knight on the white horse and carelessly tossed a missive his way. The loud gasp that echoed through the crowd amused Thomas. He would have laughed if it weren't for the fact the man on the white horse had pulled off his helmet.

Prince Isaac's blond hair shown bright under the light of the sun. He caught the letter with ease and tossed his dark skinned companion a smug grin. Alby rolled his eyes.

"As you are all well aware, I danced with someone at the ball."

Murmurs broke out in the crowd. Thomas carefully slunk back into the nameless faces, not wanting Newt to recognize him in a public setting.

"Before you ask, yes, the person was a man and regardless of what you may think of it, or me, know that my preference in who I love does not change the way I will rule this land."

Thomas stilled, breathless. Love? After one night? From one dance?

Impossible.

The black stallions shifted uncomfortably, the crowd's whispers beginning to crescendo.

Prince Isaac uncurled the letter and held it out for all eyes to see. It was a detailed sketch of the mysterious boy from the ball. His face had been obscured by the finer details of the masquerade mask, but the shape of his eyes were prominent. His jawline was easy to see and to Thomas' shame and surprise, the splattering of moles along his neck and cheek were easy to see from where he stood. He didn't think Newt would remember that detail in the dark.

"A reward will be given to anyone who is familiar with this face." Newt continued. He allowed the people to concert excitedly, the promise of gold always a favored topic among the commoners. "I know next to nothing about this boy save for his name."

Thomas tensed. He bit his lip.

"And the moles on his cheek and neck. They fall in a distinct pattern, one that's easy to miss if you aren't careful." Prince Isaac rolled the image back into a scroll and handed it to Alby. "My knights will post pictures all around the kingdom. If you see him, take him to the palace as soon as possible."

Thomas rushed away from the crowd before Newt could finish speaking. He needed to get home before the prince could catch him. His heart was giddy with glee.

Love? Was that even possible after one dance?

He hadn't realized Newt was a hopeless romantic.

* * *

He'd only just gotten onto the dirt road toward home when a series of hooves pounded behind him. Panicking, Thomas lunged into a bush for safety and waited for the knights to pass.

"Do you have any idea how many people are named Thomas in this place?" He heard the familiar voice of Alby say. "A lot. My father's name was Thomas – what's with that face?"

Thomas peaked through the bushes. Sir Alby and the prince strolled along in a leisure pace, their horses tranquil despite the thundering of hooves of the passing knights. Newt bore an expression of exaggerated disgust, one that made Alby nudge the prince playfully on the arm. The boy broke out into a grin.

"No offense to your father, Alby, but I highly doubt I danced with him that night."

"I didn't say you did you shank."

Newt burst into laughter. "You have no respect for your superiors!"

"Oh, I have respect, just not when my Prince decides to be a snarky shank 'bout it." Alby quipped. He adjusted his grip on the horse's reigns then gave Newt a careful look. "Are you sure his name is Thomas at all? He could have been lying."

Newt shook his head, a wistful smile on his lips. "I don't know anything about him Alby." He stared down the dirt road longingly. "Thomas might not be his real name, but he was definitely real. I have to find him, Alby. I have to get to know him. It'll haunt me for the rest of my life if I don't."

Thomas took a step back and suddenly tensed. A loud _snap_ sounded from beneath his foot. Alby and Newt were nearly thrown off their horses in panic, the poor creatures spooked to the core. Seized in panic, Thomas broke into a run.

He heard Alby yell behind him and the dreaded thunderous sound of hooves gave way to pursuit. He tried to lose them in the trees. He wove through the foliage, ducked low hanging branches and jumped upturned roots. The terror of being chased and caught by the one person he really did not wish to see dulled Thomas' senses. He missed a high rise root and fell disastrously into a pile of leaves.

The knights had him surrounded before he could regain his bearings.

Worse yet, Newt was already upon him before he could breathe.

"At ease!" The prince commanded. He kneeled by Thomas' side, inspecting the fallen boy.

Thomas remained face first on the ground, practically shoving his face into the fallen foliage. He hoped Newt wouldn't recognize him, he really didn't want the prince to see him like this. Without the majesty of Minho's magic, or the masquerade mask hiding his face, Thomas feared the Prince would see him for who he truly was – a peasant boy cursed to a family who hated him and whose parents died before he could find his place in the world. Surely the prince would want nothing of him after this.

Newt held out his hand. "Come now, lying there can't possibly be comfortable."

He resisted at first, but gave in pathetically quick. He took the prince's hand and rose to his feet. He brushed off the leaves still clinging to his clothes and reluctantly gazed up at the prince.

Isaac's eyes widened in disbelief.

"T-Thomas?"

Thomas licked his lips nervously. "Hi."

The smile that broke across Newt's face was devastatingly gorgeous. Thomas was pulled into the boy's embrace before he could utter another word.

Alby snorted from behind them. "Guess that means no one gets the reward."

Thomas was momentarily stunned. His arms laced around Newt's shoulders out of their own accord and hugged him just as tight. His heart sang from the contact.

"I didn't… think you'd come looking for me."

Newt pulled away, the expression on his face tender and warm. "And I didn't expect to keep thinking about you after that night. " he admitted, a little sheepishly. "But you wouldn't leave my head."

"Give the prince some privacy, yeah?" Alby ordered.

The knights dispersed, leaving Thomas alone with Newt. The boy blushed. They barely knew each other and yet Newt's proximity to him was similar to that of a lover.

"Come with me to the palace. Please, I want to get to know you better."

Thomas was touched by the prince's pleads and wanted nothing more than to honor his wishes, but the thought of Ava manipulating the situation horrified him. He didn't want Newt anywhere near the woman if he could help it.

"Your maj— _Newt_ —" he corrected, his stomach fluttered at the prince's loving smile. "—this thing between us, _whatever it is_ , it can't work out."

Newt leaned into Thomas, their foreheads colliding gently, his touch intoxicatingly warm. "It'll work if you give it a chance, Tommy."

Tommy. He called him _Tommy._

Thomas felt his legs grow weak, his fair skin hot. He shut his eyes, embarrassed by the hurricane of emotions whirling in his head. Newt's presence was too much. His closeness, his warmth; the scent of the perfumes they showered with him – Thomas felt like he never wanted to part from this boy ever again.

And yet, he knew he had to. Needed to.

Thomas pulled himself away from Newt's grasp and gathered his slender hands. He pressed his lips against the male's knuckles, feather light and filled with a thousand and one wishes.

"I can't. For your sake. Please understand."

The hurt in Newt's eyes pained him. It broke his heart worse than anything else so far, but Thomas shoved the guilt and regret aside. He forced the longing deep into the fear reaches of his mind and reminded himself why it was best to keep Newt away.

Away from Brenda and Teresa

Away from Ava Paige.

But, as Thomas quickly discovered, Newt was a stubborn Prince.

"Okay, but please, meet with me again. Just one more time."

"Where and when?" Thomas wasn't surprised with his eagerness and Newt, it seemed, wasn't either.

"The town inn. Alby's relative owns the place. She'll let you in without trouble. Here," Newt pulled a pin from the assortment on his uniform and pressed it into Thomas' hands. "Show her this when you arrive. She'll understand."

Newt suddenly closed the gap between them. His lips were soft against Thomas', his movements clumsy yet determined. He pulled away before the brunet could react and returned to his horse in one swift elegant motion.

"I'll see you tonight when the moon is high in the sky." He flashed him one last smile then ordered his knights to march.

Thomas remained in the woods as they trotted off, his mind buzzing and his lips tingling.

* * *

He had a bounce to his step he couldn't hide and a song in his soul he couldn't help but hum. His strange behavior startled his family;' Brenda avoided him like the plague and Teresa's foul mood only grew worse in his presence. Ava watched him like a hawk. As he washed their plates during dinner, Thomas felt his step-mother's penetrating gaze scan every inch of him. He would have been scared – should have been – but his lips till prickled with the feel of Newt. All his worries seemed trivial in the face of it all.

He had a crush on the Prince and it was a terrible, beautiful thing.

When his step-sisters retired for the evening, Thomas expected his step-mother to follow pursuit. Instead, he found her lounging in the loft, nursing a hot cup of tea in her hands. A crumbled piece of paper lay forgotten on her lap. It was the most conspicuous thing in the entire room.

She stared into the fireplace with intensity, though the hearth did not burn with fire. She didn't seem to register his appearance.

Thomas cursed in his mind. How was he supposed to meet Newt if she was still awake?

He was about to leave when Ava's voice froze his movements.

"Thomas, come here." Her voice sounded light and delicate, almost like how a loving mother should, but Thomas heard the dark, barely veiled intent behind her tone. Obey her and no one would get hurt – he was familiar with that one.

Ava sipped on her cooling tea as he approached. "I went to the market today and saw quite a sight."

Thomas tried to keep himself from tensing. He kept his face blank.

She carried on without a glance in his direction. "It would seem the prince made an announcement sometime before my arrival. It would appear the boy he danced with during the ball stole his heart." She took another sip. Thomas' heart raced. "I saw these posters all over town." She handed him the crumbled paper then, icy blue eyes bearing up at him.

Thomas swallowed thickly.

"Open it and tell me what you see." She commanded.

The sound of crinkling paper filled the room. He swallowed again, his throat dry, as the image of the familiar masked boy stared back at him.

"Well?"

"I don't know this person."

Ava hummed into her tea. "No?" She bore into him. "Do you know what I see? I see a boy who disobeyed his mother's command and snuck into the ball like a common thief."

Thomas lowered the wrinkled picture and stared into Ava's eyes impassively, though he was panicking on the inside.

"Are you implying that this picture of a boy wearing a mask is me, step-mother?" He asked innocently. The twitch of her lip was dangerous. He was being foolish but the trickle of bravery that slithered into his veins pushed him onward. "This can't possibly be me. I would never disobey my dead mother's command."

Her strike had been woefully unexpected. Thomas crumbled to his knees, stunned by the action rather than the force of her strike. The flesh around his temple and cheek bone burned painfully. Something warm trickled down his chin.

Ava Paige towered over him, her tea cup forgotten on the floor, thankfully empty of the golden drink. Clutched tightly in her hand was Newt's pin.

Thomas gaped at her in horror.

"Did you think you could hide this from me?" She scoffed. She tossed the pin at Thomas with a snarl of disgust. "Idiotic child! Nothing goes unheard of in this house! You may have won the prince's favor, but all is not lost." She smiled, sickeningly sweet. She helped him to his feet suddenly, her touch deceptively gentle.

"You have Prince Isaac's heart, Thomas, and as my son through marriage, whatever he bestows upon you must trickle down to us. Tomorrow, we will head to the castle and meet with the royal family. You get to keep your _precious_ prince and my daughters and I will live like royalty with the status _you_ will grant us." She ran a thumb over Thomas' wounded cheek and dug a sharp nail into his flesh.

He ripped himself away from her grasp, his face screwed up in a grimace.

The woman smiled sadistically. "Good night Thomas. Sleep well." She purred.

* * *

Newt's face lit up the moment Thomas entered the room they were destined to meet in. At any other point in time, Thomas would have been happy to see the other boy's smile, but now, it made his stomach twist in sickness. Newt's bright expression changed into worry. His brown eyes fixated on a point on Thomas' face: Ava's gracious gift to him.

"What happened?" He grabbed Thomas gently and delicately brushed the wound with a calloused thumb. "That wasn't there this afternoon…"

"My stepmother…" Thomas finished lamely.

Newt's eyes darkened dangerously.

Thomas licked his lips. "She wants to meet you."

"After doing this to you? Forget it!"

Thomas held onto Newt's hands, keeping him close. He stared at him pleadingly.

Newt's resistance melted fairly quickly, but the anger remained simmering. "What does she want?"

"Status."

His lips curled into a snarl, and Thomas couldn't blame him, yet the blond didn't say anything more about the subject. He seemed more interested in basking in their closeness than anything else. He nodded mutely and reclaimed Thomas' lips.

Thomas melted into the kiss and allowed his troubles to fade away.

* * *

Thomas was anxious to get the day over with. Ava and her daughters dressed appropriately for a meeting with the royal family, but the hostile tension between him and them lay thick in the air. Brenda seemed more bored than curious, but Teresa was absolutely incensed. When Ava told her that it was Thomas who'd stolen the prince's attention, she gave the boy such a venomous glare he was concerned she too would assault him physically. Not to say she didn't try. She almost pushed him down a flight of stairs.

Now, Sir Alby led them through the halls of the castle and Thomas could not wait to get things settled once and for all. He told Newt everything he felt comfortable in sharing during their time together. The prince had listened to his pleads and promised him an outcome that would benefit everyone involved. He wasn't sure what that meant, but Thomas hoped it was nothing too serious.

Sir Alby led them to a private quarter and asked the women to kindly await an official's appearance. He turned to Thomas then and gave the boy a quick wink.

Thomas sucked in a breath. "The prince wishes to speak with you," the knight continued. He ignored Teresa's foul temper and Ava's barely concealed disgust. "If you would please?" he motioned toward the door.

Thomas didn't need to be told twice. He hurried out the door like his pants were on fire. Alby's light chortle sounded behind him.

"What are you going to do with them?"

Alby's amusement turned impassive. He shrugged. "What the prince says. If they want status, they'll get status, but not here. He plans on sending them to a lovely little place far off into the countryside."

Thomas heaved a breath. "I was worried he was going to toss them to the dungeons."

"I still could," the prince in question grinned, appearing by Thomas' side so suddenly, the poor boy actually jumped. "Sorry." He laughed.

Thomas scowled dejectedly.

"In fact, I rather toss 'em somewhere I don't need to see 'em but something tells me you'd rather they be somewhere far away from here."

"Far, _far_ away." Thomas agreed with a sight. He grabbed Newt's hand and clutched it tight. "Thank you. You didn't have to do this."

Newt kissed his knuckles delicately. "I know, but I wanted to. Anything to make you happy, Tommy." The boy blushed under Newt's loving gaze. His grin broadened. "Now, let me introduce you to my parents!"

Thomas gulped. Oh boy.


	5. Sleeping Beauty (Newtmas)

For bor3-d on tumblr, who requested a sleeping beauty parody where Newt is Aurora and Thomas is the Prince.

Honestly, I feel like my writing gets shittier the more I go along with this but I think it's because I know I'm writing for fairytales so my brain is trying to emulate that process =_=

* * *

 ** _Sleeping Beauty (Newtmas)_**

* * *

The first time they laid eyes on each other was many years ago when the princes had been nothing but babes themselves. It'd been at a party, celebrating Prince Isaac's first year, and like all children too young to recall their youth, neither Prince Isaac nor Prince Thomas would be able to recall their first meeting; or the fact that Prince Thomas tried to chew on Isaac's blanket or that Isaac regurgitated his meal on top of Alby right after the fairy had given him the blessing of quick wit. Minho had joked for days about it.

They'd also been too young to recall what had happened on that day; how everything had been so perfectly gorgeous and perfectly calm, until the wickedest fairy of them all came barreling through the palace doors and demanding to see the child she had been so wrongfully denied. Her love for the king had grown sour over the years, and that was all fine and well considering their bad blood between each other, but when her eyes set upon the tiny blond prince, who had done nothing but probably nibble on Thomas's sleeve, the whole palace reacted.

She gave him a curse as a gift and laughed shrilly as she vanished in a puff of smoke that reeked of sulfuric acid before the knights could spear her with their weapons.

The night had been ruined then and Prince Isaac had simply vanished.

* * *

The second time they met was by pure chance. (or perhaps by fate, as the fairies liked to joke.)

Newt had only just turned sixteen, a great, yet dreaded milestone the fairies had been anxious to surpass since the boy's birth. Minho had sent him out to gather flowers, and when Newt had asked why they needed such a weird request, Minho simply shoved him out the door, called him a shank and slammed it shut behind him. The distinct _click_ of their lock sounded loud in the tranquil forest air. Newt didn't know what to make of it, but Minho, Alby and Gally's suspicious behavior today really made the blond want to roll his eyes.

He didn't travel too far from the cottage, heedful of his guardian's concerns. Ever since he could remember they had always asked him to stay close to home. It made exploring the forest difficult, especially when, for the longest time, he was not allowed to go three feet out the door. But as he grew, they allowed him to journey far, and soon Newt hoped they would allow him to _leave_ the forest they lived in and explore what else was out there. Surely, there had to be more to the world than the bloody trees that towered over everything.

And yes, there had to be, because when he crossed the stone bridge covered in moss and leaves and slipped into the tiny sanctuary protected by the thick foliage of trees, Newt had been both horrified and intrigued to find a horse drinking from the creek. It was a mixture of white and gray, with onyx eyes and a simple saddle strapped to its body. It lapped up the cold creek water onto its tongue, completely ignorant to Newt's sudden appearance. But it wasn't alone, not truly.

The moment Newt stepped into the clearing, another person—a boy with chocolate brown hair, eyes the color of tree bark and a splattering of moles across his cheek, appeared from behind the horse with a brush at hand. They both froze at each other's presence, eyes wide and body tense.

Newt could already hear his guardians warning him against strangers, especially tall, broody ones dressed in all white clothing, but this boy wasn't a stranger. Not truly.

There was something oddly familiar about him.

"Um, hi?" began the boy hesitantly. "I didn't realize someone else knew about this place…"

"I'm sorry. I'll leave."

"No wait!"

Newt froze and so did the boy. They stared at the other again, unsure of what to do, but intrigued all the same.

"You can… you can stay." The stranger smiled, small and sweet; a little awkward but oddly adorable. It drew Newt to him, though he wasn't sure why. He barely knew the guy. "My name is Thomas."

"Newt," he grinned.

"It's nice to meet you, Newt."

* * *

The time they spent together at their secret place had been precious and everlasting. They barely knew each other, could hardly recall why they seemed so familiar to each others' eyes but Thomas and Newt had been drawn together and that moment, where they danced jokingly under the sky and spoke about things they didn't dare share with others, it stayed with them beyond their parting. It haunted them when they couldn't see each other again. Even when Newt had confessed to his guardians about his meeting with Thomas, and he watched in disappointment and hurt as their expressions of utter horror morphed their faces, did he hang onto this precious memory.

They had promised to see each other again the first chance they could.

And they did. Every night.

Until a crow had spotted them and everything fell apart at the seams.

* * *

The last time they saw each other, was when the world had fallen still and darkness prevailed the lands. The kingdom was covered in thorns, thick and menacing, but not enough to frighten Thomas away. With his trusty steed, his sword sharp hand ready and three annoying snarky fairies guarding his back, Thomas found the strength, courage and determination to force his way through the dangerous thorns and hack the hateful, wicked creature that had stolen his love from him.

He still didn't know much about Newt or the legend behind the wicked fairy who had cursed a sweet innocent babe.

What he did know about the blond, who slept like death on a plush bed, was his beautiful smile, his adventurous spirit and that terribly attractive sass for anything Thomas did wrong – which was basically everything in Newt's eyes.

He knew the boy had been raised by three guardians – who happened to be fairies.

He knew the boy wished to see the world beyond the forest; knew he had read everything in their arsenal of books; knew how to climb trees and swim in lakes. He knew how to cook because Minho, Gally and Alby were such failures at it and knew how to fashion crowns out of flowers.

He knew nothing about the Prince who had been taken away from his kingdom as a child because of a witch who'd been jealous of his father. All he knew, and cared for, was the boy sleeping in waiting.

True love's kiss could break the spell. Thomas didn't know if what he felt for Newt could be considered "true love", but he knew he loved the boy more than anything.

He leaned across the bed and placed a tender kiss against the boy's pale forehead.

 _Wake up. Please…_

He waited. And waited.

He grew disheartened the longer he waited.

His heart grew heavy; the remorse thick, but he waited.

And waited.

Until finally, the blond's lashes fluttered open and Thomas felt the air fill his lungs.

The drowsy prince stretched out his long, lanky limbs and yawned. "Mornin' Tommy," he smiled, sleepily. "I knew you'd come."

Thomas chuckled. "Of course. I'd do anything for you." He leaned across the bed again and kissed him with all the love he could muster.


	6. Beauty and the Beast (Newtmas)

_For ravenhowl on tumblr, who wanted a Beauty and the Beast with Newtmas where Thomas is the beast and Newt is Belle._

 _I quite like this beast. He's terribly cute~_

* * *

 ** _Beauty and the Beast (Newtmas)_**

* * *

He would stay with the beast for "eternity"; he would cease his communications with the outside world and live the life of a slave within the beast's castle, catering to the outlandish demands the monster had for him. Newt gave up his freedom in exchange for his father's life that had been the terms of their agreement, but what he did not expect was the reality of it all.

His father's capturer was a _true_ creature – a demon with fur and wicked black horns protruding from his skull. His hands were adorned with razor sharp claws and his eyes seemed to glow eerily in the dark, a fact that actually intrigued Newt rather than disturb him. He wasn't a tall beast, not like Newt's father claimed him to be, and the only intimidating thing about the creature were his devilish horns, long, sharp and black as onyx. The beast had strength however, Newt would give him that.

Newt expected to be a slave to the creature. He anticipated living in a cold, dark dungeon with nothing but a hay pile for his bed and a crack in the wall as his window. He predicted to be barely fed: half a cup of dirty water and day's old bread. Maybe dead mice to sicken him further.

What he got instead was three course meals full of nutrients grown from the beast's garden and a luxurious suit fit for a royal guest.

He anticipated chains and torture, what he got instead was throw blankets as soft as feathers and the occasionally haunting melody from a harp.

The beast may have been a hideous creature in every sense of the word, but Newt found him to be… unbelievably gentle… and strangely kind?

Even now, as Newt sat by the window pane in the library, a book on his lap and a hot cup of jo in his hand, he found himself unable to take his eyes away from the furry creature a few feet away.

Thomas sat perched in front of the window, seemingly entranced by the delicate fall of snow. It was a gentle drizzle, the puffs of snow fluffy and thick; it blanketed the slumbering garden in a layer of pure, sparkling white. There was a glimmer in Thomas' brown eyes that reminded Newt of children excited for the snowfall. He couldn't help but think this beast before him was nothing more than a child himself. His age possibly? Just shy of manhood?

"How old are you Tommy?" He hadn't meant to ask, but the question rolled off his tongue before he could help himself.

The creature tensed, his furry shoulders hunched as though disturbed. Newt already felt the first inklings of regret circulating in his chest. Was his age a sore topic? Or had it been the nickname?

Newt hadn't meant to call him that either, but the creature had been so kind to him. It felt… inappropriate somehow to not give him a nickname.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to answer—"

"S'okay." The beast murmured. Newt felt like smacking himself, his host sounded so… _wounded._ "I'm… I'm seventeen."

The blond blinked in surprise. _A year younger? Truly?_

"I, uh, turn eighteen next summer." He shrugged.

A smile stretched across Newt's lips. "So you're a summer baby? How cute."

Thomas suddenly huffed, his ears flat against his head. "What's cute about that? There's nothing cute about being a summer baby." He grumbled childishly.

This was another thing Newt hadn't expected when he gave away his freedom. Thomas could be as stubborn as he was kind and sometimes the boy had a temper that fueled Newt's own, but this? He couldn't believe this creature could be so… bloody adorable.

Thomas huddled by the window, hunched on the couch, his arms crossed. Newt couldn't see it, but he most certainly could _hear_ the pout on the boy's lips. "I'm not cute," Thomas grumbled, his brown ears still pressed tight against his furry head. "I'm _fearsome._ "

Newt burst into laughter.

Thomas bristled, hunching further into himself. His tail wrapped around his ankles as though the furry appendage would provide him comfort from the blond's wicked laughter.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Newt giggled, wiping away a stray tear. "I didn't mean to embarrass you Tommy. That was just—"

"Cute?"

Newt grinned. "Bloody adorable really. You're adorable. How could anyone ever fear you?"

Newt didn't think animals could blush, let alone a cursed teenage boy covered in layers of fur, but he was sure with the way Thomas' tail twitched and curled around his legs that the boy was in fact blushing like a school girl. It was another thing had hadn't expected, but quite liked. Thomas was like an open book and Newt was able to read every little thing about him.

Being in servitude to this "beast" didn't seem as bad as he thought it would. In fact, it was turning out to be quite enjoyable.


	7. Tangled (Minewt)

_For anon, who requested a Minewt Tangled parody with movie version Newt; Minho as Flynn and Newt as Rapunzel_

 _Also, as a PSA: I've written at least 3 fairytales per pairing. I have The Little Mermaid and Aladdin left for Minewt and Snow White, Beauty and the Beast and Hercules for Thominho. Sleeping Beauty for Thominewt is in the works, because that's the only pair that doesn't have three and all of Newtmas is completed._

 _Like I posted in AO3, I had a vote to see which story from each pairing would be completed and so far it came out to Cinderella (Newtmas), The Little Mermaid (Thominewt, Beauty and the Beast (Thominho) and possibly Aladdin for Minewt._

 _I might make an exception for Thominho Hercules only because that story is fucking hilarious XD_

* * *

It'd taken them only a day, cutting through the forest and hitching a ride on a lone horse, to reach the kingdom. Celebrations were already underway as the towns' people chattered in glee. Decorations were strung up on every post and house they could see. Banners carrying the royal family's sun crest hung from all sorts of places. Flowers of all kinds fluttered to the ground from residents higher up; the air thick with the delicious aroma of food and music.

Newt marveled at the sight, dark eyes wide. His heart hammered with excitement. Soon, he would finally get to see the floating lights that had plagued him with hopes and wishes for the last eighteen years of his life.

Minho hung back a little ways behind him, a hand on Maximus's reigns. A small smile slipped easily onto his lips at the sight of his blond haired companion's enjoyment. He had never seen him so happy. (A part of him felt elated that it was because of him Newt could smile so brightly.) It made something warm light in his chest.

He nudged the boy carefully, his tender smile now a playful grin. "Ready shank? This party is for you."

Newt snorted, but returned Minho's dazzling smile. _This crazy shank…_

"Thanks Min," He breathed. "I really appreciate it."

Minho waved a hand, brushing aside his thanks. He grabbed the boy's hand suddenly, a devilish glint in his eye. "Don't thank me yet Newt. The celebration has only just begun."

* * *

They spent the afternoon dancing with the locals and singing along to their songs. Newt's long luxurious locks of golden hair had been tied into layers of braids. Flowers of all sorts dotted the style, making him smell like freshly plucked daisies. It also made him look more feminine, his thin frame and cloak not helping the situation. Minho had laughed at first. Called him a cute shank, but a quick jab in the ribs from the blushing boy made the Asian double over in pain. The insufferable smirk on his lips told Newt he did not regret a damn thing.

The local delicacies were a delight on Newt's tongue. Eighteen years of being locked up in a tower had stunted Newt's taste buds. He never thought that food could taste so different given the right ingredients. He wanted to make up for it all tonight. He sampled everything he could; from their sweets to their bread; from their meat to their fruits. Newt dragged Minho on a whirlwind of excitement, touching everything they could.

As tiring as it was being dragged around, Minho was not hesitant to admit that he was just as happy and excited as Newt. Neither of them could deny that today would be remembered as one of the best days of their lives.

When the sun began to set, Newt found himself in Minho's arms, dancing to the last folk song before the ending ceremony was to begin. Minho was an inch or two shorter than Newt – a fact Newt found oddly charming and hilarious – but the thief's hands were large in comparison. They were calloused from years of hard labor, perhaps years of thievery, and swallowed Newt's soft palms in a gentle, warm, sweaty embrace.

Newt gazed into the dark pools of Minho's almond shaped eyes, memories of the past day resurfacing in his mind's eye. His heart quickened in a way that had nothing to do with the excitement of the festivities.

He pulled away at the end of the song, his stomach fluttering. He licked his lips, and watched Minho's eyes dart toward his mouth before the boy turned away, strangely sheepish.

Minho cleared his throat. "So, uh, we should go to the boats."

"The boats?"

Minho's lips parted into another grin. "Yeah, you didn't think I'd help you come all this way and not get you the best seat in the house? Come on." He grabbed his hand and tugged him through the murmuring crowd.

Newt spent most of his time trying to control his breathing.

* * *

He brought him to the lake, a small boat waiting for them. Maximus hung back, eyeing them as they climbed into the small thing. Minho tossed a bag of apples to the creature and rowed them away from the dock.

"I'm not gonna even ask," Newt snorted, amused.

Minho laughed. "Relax, I paid for most of them."

He groaned. " _Minho!_ "

"Like they're gonna notice!" the thief shrugged. "These people are rich. You think they're gonna care for a few missing apples? _Please!_ "

They rowed out into the middle of the shadowy lake, the world calm and silent save for the melody of crickets singing in the distance. Newt relaxed in his seat, dark eyes gazing up at the sky above. Stars glimmered beautifully overhead, constellations he was familiar with easily recognizable. The castle lights provided a soft back drop to the palliative darkness. It soothed the anxiety that had crept up in his veins.

"It's beautiful being out here." He whispered, scared to ruin the tranquility that had settled on the world around them.

"Yeah," Minho sighed. "You are."

Newt snapped his head toward Minho, a confused frown plastered on his face. "What?"

The thief suddenly tensed in panic. "Uh – I mean – yeah! Pretty night, pretty castle – yeah. Gorgeous!"

Newt arched an eyebrow, unconvinced.

Minho scowled, his face warm. "Keep your eyes on the castle, slinthead, or you'll miss the lights." He grumbled.

Newt chuckled. He opened his mouth to reply when a flicker of light caught his eye. He glanced back to the castle, his body buzzing with anticipation.

The lights he had so often seen from his tower window, the ones his mother had called stars en though they weren't, were as breathtakingly gorgeous up close then they were from the distance. The first lantern light floated into the sky, leading an army of glowing orange at its wake.

Newt rose to his feet, mouth hanging, as the lights lit up the lake in a soft, warm hue.

Minho watched him, his stomach somersaulting. The light of the lanterns illuminated his pale skin, made him look as though he had a soft halo shrouding his body. He looked divine. Too pure and precious for the world they lived in.

 _Like an angel._ Minho thought, exhaling slowly. _I don't want to ever let you go._

He suddenly tensed, startled by his thought. He watched the blond gantly raise a fallen lantern into the sky, a nervous, giddy feeling flowing in his body. He realized then that he didn't mind his thoughts. Yes, it was true. Minho didn't want to let this precious person go.

Newt caught his eye again. The smile that crossed his face was more stunning than the sight of the lantern lights.

"Thank you, Minho."

The dark haired boy returned his smile lovingly.

"You're welcome Newt."

* * *

 **Questions? Comments? Critics?  
Leave a review!  
Or reach out to me on tumblr via ladyjanriel.  
**


	8. Aladdin (Minewt)

_For anon on tumblr, who requested the scene in Aladdin where they meet in the market place for the first time._

* * *

 _ **Aladdin (Minewt)  
**_

* * *

The cacophony of sounds from the crowded market crescendo in Newt's ears. This was the first time Newt was visiting the market and while he had heard stories from the servants in the palace, seeing the enormous crowd of people haggling with merchants was an exciting and alien experience.

It was everything he expected it to be. Commoners of all sorts yelling and begging; the merchants sold a variety of goods from food to expensive looking nick-knacks to completely useless and possibly trashy items.

They didn't recognize him behind the layers of brown, raggedy cloth or the emblem of Royalty he still wore around his neck as a keepsake from home. (He might have been running away from home, but that didn't mean he wanted to forget his heritage. He still loved his father after all, he just… didn't love having to get married so soon.)

Despite his desires to flee from the palace, Newt was woefully ignorant. To leave the kingdom meant finding a means of transportation and what better way to find that then the market?

Keeping the hood firmly in place, Newt maneuvered through the heavy crowd. He lumped into hagglers at every opportunity and tried to avoid eye contact with the merchants. One guy in particular seemed adamant in selling him fish. The smell was enough to make him gag.

Newt squeezed his way through a less populated area, relieved to be able to breathe again. How anyone could wake up every day to deal with this insanity he would never understand.

Newt carried along the more open path, regrettably lost and confused – he should have brought a map – when he caught sight of a lone child covered in filth and rags eyeing a bright red apple hungrily. He licked his lips with a tiny wet tongue, big brown eyes wide as saucers. He seemed so small and frail, his limbs scarily bony. The sight of him made Newt's heart ache.

He plucked the biggest apple he could find and handed it to the starving child.

The little boy beamed. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the chorus of voices.

Newt smile in return and watched the boy disappear into the masses.

"You better pay for that apple, boy."

Newt jerked from the stand. The merchant was a large, burly man with a beard thicker than the sultans and eyes a piercing, beady black. It took Newt a second to register the merchant's words and once it did, panic poured into his veins. He didn't think to bring any money with him. How did he plan on escaping the kingdom? Stealing a horse? Hitching a ride with a wandering merchant?

How stupid can you be?!

His silence strained the merchant's patience. "Thief!" He hollered. The large male grabbed the prince's arm without warning and yanked it across the flat surface of his booth. "I will teach you what happens to people who steal from me!" He raised a cleaver into the air, the rusted metal gleaming in the sunlight.

Newt tried to yank back his arm in panic. "Wait, please, hold on! I can give you money! Just let me talk to the Sultan—please!" He snapped his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to avoid the inevitable.

He pictured the look on his father's face when he returned, bleeding and pained. Worse yet, he pictured the look on the merchant's face when he realized what he had done to the Prince.

He felt a sudden whoosh of air then—

"Thank you so much for finding my cousin!"

Newt froze. He opened his eyes slowly. A stranger stood in between him and the merchant, another boy no older than him had his hand on the man's wrist with the cleaver. A mischievous smile lay plastered on the boy's face, making the indentations of his dimples more prominent. He snaked the cleaver away from the bewildered merchant and set it aside, all the while keeping the man occupied with his words.

"I'm so relieved. You see, my cousin's not entirely there, you know? He likes to wander around, getting into trouble. It's terrible really. Thank you for finding him my good sir!"  
"He said he knows the Sultan."

The stranger laughed, the sound oddly refreshing to Newt. "He thinks the monkey is the sultan." He gestured toward his furry companion, who'd been in the process of stealing an apple from the stand.

"HEY!"

The boy grabbed Newt's hand and pulled him into the crowd, his uproarious laughter drowning among the sea of noise.

Newt was stunned. He couldn't bring himself to do anything but let the peasant boy lead him away. And yet, somehow, he didn't seem to mind one bit.

They didn't stop until they crawled into an abandoned, broken down home tucked away inconspicuously in one of the alleyways. The place wasn't the best of living circumstances; there was no bathroom or proper insulation to keep away the cold nights. There was no bed save for a pile of shaggily worn blankets and old pillows from the palace huddled in a pile at the corner of the room. What it did have was a gorgeous view of the palace. It left Newt speechless.

"It's not much," the boy said in the silence. "But its home." He grinned.

He tossed Newt an apple. "Minho."

The prince blinked. "Huh?"

Those dimples seemed to get deeper. "My name. It's Minho. You?"

Newt eyed the red luscious apple in his hands for a moment. He smiled. "My name is Newt. Thank you… for what you did back there."

Minho tore a bite out of his fruit, his monkey companion eyeing the treat with something akin to hunger. "Anything for a friend in need."

A friend? Was that how you make friends outside the palace? By rescuing people from getting their hands chopped off?

Something about Minho's words brought warmth to his chest. Newt didn't have many friends. He had cohorts and acquaintances – any friend he did have was either bribed by his father or wanted nothing more than his influence. But Minho wasn't anything like the others. He had saved him from losing a hand and brought him to his home.

Newt didn't know how he could ever repay him… except maybe… for staying home just a little bit longer.

* * *

 **Questions? Comments? Critics?**  
 **Leave a review!**  
 **Or drop an ask via ladyjanriel on tumblr**


	9. The Little Mermaid (Minewt)

_For newtporn on tumblr, who requested a little mermaid for Minewt._

 _I feel like there isn't much minewt in this one but I'm not sure._

 _Story is also unedited so mind the typos. I like this story mostly because Minho's point of view is hilarious sometimes XD  
_

* * *

 ** _The Little Mermaid (Minewt)  
_**

* * *

Minho's fascination with the human world had nothing to do with their technology or their culture. He wasn't interested in understanding how they lived outside of the ocean or how they could breathe without water in their lungs. In truth, Minho was only fascinated because of one poor unfortunate soul.

He'd been a prince – maybe? Possibly. – celebrating his birthday on a massive wooden ship. Minho had been minding his own business then, when the shadow of the ship blocked out the light of the moon and the ocean seemed to echo with the dull loud booms of the sparkling explosions above. He had only wanted a closer look; had meant to peek at the humans celebrating then be back to the grotto before his family knew he'd been away.

He didn't expect to become entranced by the strange noises that came out of their unusual metal objects and the stupid movements they did in beat to the sound. He didn't mean to attract the attention of the weird hairy creature desperate to eat his face or stare unabashedly at the tall blond haired human who seemed to shy away from all the attention everyone on board poured onto him.

The storm that came and destroyed their ship had been an unfortunate yet not unexpected accident. And he had wanted to leave – it was not business if the humans drowned.

And yet…

It would be such a waste for the blond to die in the cold dark depths of the sea. Minho felt inclined to rescue him; to give him some semblance of a chance at survival. He dragged the human's body onto the sandy shore and slithered back into the waves before that furry, excited creature came bounding and snapping at his face, it's tongue lolling everywhere.

He had lingered afterwards; had watched the human stir, dazed and sick from the salt that flowed in the ocean. The man from before had helped the prince to his feet and lead him away from the shore; to safety.

Minho thought that would be the end of it. He had seen what he wanted, saved the unfortunate human from a tragic death – that alone would warrant a punishment should the king know – and yet, he thought of him. He saw the boy's face in his dreams, and in his waking moments, he could do nothing but question about the prince's whereabouts. Was he alright up there beneath the sun? Did nearly drowning leave him injured? Would that furry, hideous creature devour him as it tried to devour Minho?

Did that human even have a name?

Minho visited the surface frequently, often hiding behind the rock formation he had first used that faithful day, and hoped by some miracle he could catch just a glimpse of that boy. He did this every day for the past two weeks and each time he would return home disappointed and sick from the wind.

Frypan couldn't stand the sight of him. He smacked the boy upside his head when Minho returned on yet another excursion to the surface.

"Why don't you stop pining over that human and do something about it? You're acting like a lovesick guppy and it's sickening."

Minho scowled, rubbing the sore spot on his head. "How exactly am I going to do that Fry? It's not like I can grow a pair of damn legs. Unless there's something you know about our anatomy, I'm totally out of options." He quipped. "Geez dude, did you have to hit so hard?"

"It was the only way to get you to listen," the dark skinned merman shrugged. "Look, I probably shouldn't even be telling you this because I know you and you're a shank, but watching you mope around 'cuz of some icky human is really grossing me out. You could always go find the sea witch and ask for her help, y'know?"

"The sea witch?"

"Yeah. I know there's a lot of klunk rumors 'bout her goin' on in the sea, but she's a witch and she's got magic. I think she can help ya with your problem if you just, like, explain it to her. Then she can give you legs and you can go off gallivanting with the humans."

Minho rolled his eyes, unappreciative of Frypan's mental image. But the boy brought up a good suggestion. If anyone could make him human, the sea witch could. Even if it came at a price.

Minho didn't have much going for himself in the sea. His mother worked for the king, his father was a solider. He had no other siblings and all his friends were busy with their own lives. If the sea witch wanted something in return for her services, Minho was the perfect merman for her. No one would suspect him of anything after all.

* * *

Finding her grotto had been terribly difficult. Frypan's vague "just ask the fish" was the most unhelpful thing the boy had ever told him, and that was saying something considering Frypan was never actually helpful save for the seat witch comment. Yet, despite searching around for almost a day, Minho managed to find the save the sea witch was said to be in.

It was no wonder he couldn't find it – the place was well hidden behind layers of seaweed and dead coral, bleached white from… he wasn't sure what. There was no indication this was the home of a powerful witch, but this had been the direction all the fishes had told him to go in and so, the witch had to be inside. He was going to lose it on the first thing he could find if she wasn't.

He slipped through the patches of greenery, wary of the barnacles decorating her opening. The deeper inside he went, the more barnacles clustered together. It was an unusual sight. Barnacles weren't usually found so far from the surface.

He finally reached the end of the tunnel, surprised – yet grateful – to find a large circular room filled with strange bottles from the surface world and a bubbling circular crevice filled with billowing smoke in the center of the room. To his surprise, it was not a sea witch who greeted him, but a boy with brown hair and a splattering of moles along his neck and cheek.

He nearly dropped the bottle he held in his hands at the sight of Minho. "Ah! Hello! I wasn't expecting anyone to come today… uh, my name is Thomas."

"Minho." He frowned. "Are you, uh, the sea witch?"

The jittery merman chuckled. "No, no. That's my mom. She's out running errands right now, so it's just me – but! Whatever you need, I'm sure I can help you with! She's been training me, after all." The boy beamed proudly.

Minho shrugged. He wasn't a sea witch, but he would do. "I need some legs, Thomas. There's a cute human on the surface world and the only way for me to find him is if I had legs. Can you do that?"

"Oh, sure. That's an easy spell. I've just got a few questions first. Do you want feminine legs or masculine legs? And do they specifically have to be human legs or can I have some fun and give you really cool legs? Oh, and would you want them to match your complexion or can I make them red like your scales?"

"Er… whatever makes me look the most human?" Minho frowned. "Actually, scratch that. Just give me legs. Human legs. Legs that MATCH what I would be if I were human, okay buddy?"

Thomas sighed dejectedly, but nodded. "Okay, if you want to be boring we'll do it your way. It's going to come at a price."

"Name it."

Out of nowhere, Thomas pulled out a glowing contract. "All magic comes with a price, in case you didn't know. For two pairs of legs, I have to take another body part. So because I'm sure you'd need your arms, I'm going to request you give me your voice."

"My voice? But how am I going to woo this kid if I can't talk to him?!"

Thomas lowered the contract slowly. He gave Minho a blank look, brown eyes boring into his soul. It made Minho feel like he had just said the stupidest thing in the world.

"Minho…you don't even speak the language." Thomas drawled. "What were you going to do? Speak dolphin at him? I'm sure that would frighten him. Humans are very sensitive animals."

Minho huffed. Thomas had a point there.

"Besides, humans have other methods of communication. You'll just have to learn them." Thomas held out the contract. "Your voice for your legs. Deal?" He handed the dark haired merman a fishbone with octopus ink dipped at the point.

"Fine," Minho grumbled. He grabbed the utensil and signed his name against the contract.

Thomas smiled genially.

* * *

The whole experience had been the worst thing Minho had ever felt in his life. Never before had he felt such pain. The sight of his fins ripping in two and the blood that stained the water around him, filling his senses with a strange coppery scent would haunt his dreams forever.

Thomas had been nice enough to drop him off at the surface and the first gulps of air that filled his lungs had been…indescribable. To breathe without water surrounding your every waking moment – it was an unusual experience and Minho wasn't sure if he quite liked it.

Worse yet, Minho couldn't swim with his new legs and standing on them seemed like a nightmare. It hurt to move, it hurt to stand and that thing that dangled between his legs was so strange and sensitive, Minho felt like he'd made the worst mistake in his life. He wondered briefly if it was too late to tell Thomas to reverse the spell, but the thought of seeing that blond prince again kept him from attempting at communication.

Thomas merely smiled amicably.

"You'll get used to walking in no time and the pain should be gone in a few hours or so. Just keep practicing. Now, I don't mean to be a stick in the mud but you've got until the end of the week to do what you want with that human of yours. I still haven't found a way to make my magic permanent like Mother, so, um, try your best Minho!" He made to dive beneath the waves but stopped. He turned sheepishly back to Minho, who narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I forgot to mention, if you're not in the water by the time the spell wears off, you'll turn into foam." He shrugged. "Sorry."

He dived beneath the water before Minho could strangle the shank.

* * *

Finding the blond had been astonishingly easy. All Minho had to do was collapse in front of the palace doors. The guards that had been on duty rushed to his aid and the person they had called was the blond beauty himself. The boy was truly a prince – which was a good thing because Minho didn't want to seem sappy for calling him that – and although Minho could not speak, the prince had been nothing but kind to his disability.

His named was Newt.

"This will be your room until you can get your bearings." He explained. He lead Minho into a beautifully adorned room that would have impressed any other soul in the premises, but because Minho was Minho, he was indifferent to the extravagance of his guest room. He kept his eyes solely on the prince.

The boy cleared his throat, his fair cheeks a soft shade of pink. "D-do you remember your name?"

Minho nodded. You're gorgeous. Do you know that? I bet you know that. You're a blessing from the gods, you have to be. There's no way you can be this cute in person. Shuck me.

"What is it?"

Minho tapped his throat and gave the boy a playful smile.

Newt chuckled. "Right. You can't talk, I keep forgetting." He glanced around the room for a moment then grabbed something off the table. He held out a leather bound journal and a quill for Minho to take. "But, you can probably write. Think you can write your name down for me? I feel bad not knowing your name."

 _You're a precious soul. Too good for this Earth. You can't read my language you silly human Noot._

He scrawled out his name, the symbols positively alien to the blond's eyes. Newt's happy smile morphed into disappointment – it ached Minho's heart to see it – but the prince quickly shook his head with a sigh.  
"Of course. Why didn't I think you'd speak another language?" He frowned, puzzled. "But you seem to understand me well enough."

Minho smiled irritably. _'Cuz Thomas is a shank. He stole my voice yet gave me the ability to understand you. Well played Thomas. You're definitely the son of a sea witch._

He tuned back to Newt in time to catch the prince's expression shift back into excitement.

"Alright, that's easy enough to fix. You probably understand what I'm saying but you haven't learned how to write it. I have tutors coming in every day, I can certainly spare my English tutor. He will teach you how to write!" He seemed so proud of his decision, Minho had to resist hugging him. He turned back to Minho, dark eyes shining bright. "Until then, let me give you a tour of the castle. We can get to know each other in the process."

The former merman swooned. In truth, Minho could care less about the castle. All he really wanted was to listen to Newt and get to know the human better. He didn't care about the structural history behind the establishment, or what they were having to dinner and who painted what. He didn't care about the courtyards location or the fact that they had the most gorgeous view in all of the kingdom – or the fact that there was a kingdom period. The only thing on Minho's mind at that very moment was the lingering warmth in his chest thanks to the blond's presence and the desire to be close.

He didn't even care if all of this was temporary. He would gladly turn to foam if it meant a little more time with Newt.

* * *

 **Questions? Comments? Critics?**  
 **Leave a review!**  
 **Or drop a line on tumblr via ladyjanriel**

 **Noot is too precious.**


	10. Hercules (Thominho)

_This story made me cry lmfao I don't know what happened lmfao_

 _Unbeta'd._

 _I've already been asked to continue this and the progress has been slow because I'm taking my time with it. The proper edited version will be posted eventually, right now, enjoy this one!_

* * *

 _ **Hercules (Thominho)  
**_

* * *

He still couldn't believe he was the son of Zeus after all this time. Zeus, the king of the Gods; the very immortal who spawned Gods and legendary heroes – and Minho was going to be one of them!

He'd been tasked to seek out Alby the Satry in order to begin his training as a hero, but Minho and Pegasus found Newt, a dryad, in his place. The dryad had mentored under Alby for years, had been given the opportunity to train some heroes after Alby's retirement. Now that the satyr was old and no longer wished to be bothered, Newt promised to help Minho in Alby's place. He would be the one to help the demi-god reach legendary status. It would be a great honor to see the boy's constellation in the sky.

Together, they made their way to Thebes, a city constantly under siege by monsters of all sorts. Newt felt it would be the perfect place to build up Minho's reputation. The creatures would be fierce, Newt worried Minho would be in more danger now than he had ever been in before, but he was aware of the boy's strength. He could do it. All he needed to do was stay focused.

The flight had been nothing but peaceful with Newt hanging onto the demi0god for dear life and Minho casually chattering away about one thing or another. Pegasus' large wings soared through the air, the temperature cold but not uncomfortable and the skies were a calm gorgeous blue. A sea of clouds floated beneath them, hindering their sights of the world below, but Minho didn't seem bothered.

Newt tried his best not to think about it.

They'd been soaring for a while in the tranquil silence of the sky when a roar had stopped the flying horse cold. The sudden stop jerked both males from their thoughts; Newt gripped onto Minho's shoulders tightly, his heart jittering.

"What is it boy?"

Pegasus neighed, it's ears twitching. Newt strained to his ears and heard something faint in the distance.

"You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Newt shushed the demi-god, listening. He pointed down toward the cloud, panicked.

"It's a person! They sound like they're in trouble."

Minho's expression morphed into a wide, excited grin. "You think it's a D.I.D?" Pegasus neighed a response just as Newt opened his mouth. Minho held onto the stallion's azure colored locks and kicked him forward. "TO THE DAMSEL PEGASUS!"

"It's not a da-MSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL!" Newt's scream echoed through the sky.

Pegasus dived into the cloud upon command, Newt's screaming drowned by Minho's exuberant cheering.

They landed behind a large bush a few yards away from the river. Newt was the first one off the horse, collapsing to the ground in one fell swoop. He gripped the dirt, his heavy breath rustling the grass.

"Oh Gods, I hate the sky."

Pegasus snickered.

Minho jumped off the horse with a heavy thud. He gave his companions one last confident smirk then strode out into the clearing, his posture tall and proud, and his stride reeking of arrogance. Newt groaned.  
If it was one thing he tried to instill on his pupil, it was that being a humble hero was better than an arrogant one. The lesson did not stick well.

Minho strode up toward the large, muscular centaur. In his thick, meaty hands was a twig of a person, dressed in dark lavender with hair brown as bark. Upon closer inspection, it wasn't a D.I.D. – a damsel in distress – but a boy. Still in distress, but not a pretty damsel like Minho hoped.

Not that he wasn't pretty. He was quite adorable, really. He looked very small and frail in the centaur's gigantic palm, like a porcelain doll.

He was cute.

He was in distress.

And Minho was wasting time gawking at him.

He cleared his throat.

"You there!" Minho's voice boomed in a falsely deep baritone. (Newt and Pegasus exchanged deadpanned expressions.) "Let him go!"

The centaur stopped and stared, the stranger in his palm just as stunned. Minho puffed out his chest in intimidation, hands on his hips. The creature raised a hairy brow.

"Are you deaf? I said: let. Him. Go!" The demi-god narrowed dark eyes. "Before you regret it."

There was a moment of silence. The monster stared at Minho. Minho stared at the monster. The stranger's eyes jumped from the creature to the equally insane creature on the ground.

The hideous creature roared in laughter.

"You? A tiny human?" He guffawed. "I could flick you with just my finger! And you think you can challenge me? HAHAHAHA!"

Minho sighed and rolled up his non-existent sleeves. "Alright, you asked for it." He slammed his fist into the centaur's gut so hard, the creature's body careened across the water. He slammed into the rock behind the water fall so hard, it cracked and caved all around him.

Minho clicked his tongue. "I warned you."

He turned his attention to the fallen stranger, sprawled spluttering in the water. He scooped the boy bridal style into his arms and carefully deposited him on top of a dry log away from the river.

"Are you okay?" he asked, brushing aside those soppy wet tresses despite not meaning to. He snapped his hand back as if burned, surprised by his mindless actions.

"Y-yeah," the boy coughed. He ran long, slender fingers through his locks and squeezed the excess water from his dark lavender garment. "Uh, thank you for saving me even though I had the situation under control."

Minho snorted. "Sure, if under control meant getting yourself almost killed – you had that in the bag."

"Negations are delicate situations," The brunet haired stranger scowled. "You can't just jump in headfirst like a moron."

"Oh so now I'm a moron?"

"I hate to break up whatever the bloody hell this is," Newt made an aimless gesture between the two of them. "But that centaur isn't done yet!"

As if on cue, the monstrous creature burst from the rubble, his ugly face contorted in rage. Minho could practically see the smoke spouting from his ears. With a thunderous roar, he charged toward them, his hooves splashing into the water.

Minho sighed.

"I'll be right back. Newt, keep an eye on the D.I.D."

The boy frowned. "D.I.D?"

"Damsel in distress," Newt shrugged. He joined the boy on the log, settling in for the show. He almost missed the boy's reproachful look.

"I'm not a damsel!"

Newt and Pegasus exchanged sidelong glances.

The boy's complaints were soon drowned by the sounds of a fight. He felt his body grow tight with tension as he watched Minho defend against the horrible creature without so much as breaking a sweat. The boy had strength that was without a doubt. He easily lifted the centaur from its hooves more times than the boy bothered to count and tossed him like he weighed nothing more than feathers.

The fight was over in less than ten minutes, the centaur knocked cold to the ground.

Minho returned to them, wiping his hands. He flashed them all a dazzling grin.

"By the way, my name is Minho. You are?"

The boy blinked, bewildered. "Er, Thomas."

"Well Thomas, consider yourself lucky. You're the first person in a long list of people I will save from now on."

Thomas blinked.

Newt merely sighed.

"What did I say about being humble, Minho?" The blond groaned. "Does the word not exist in your bloody vocabulary?"

"Relax Newt, I'm just joking." The demi-god grinned. He turned back to Thomas, dark eyes twinkling. "So Thomas, where are ya heading? We're going to Thebes if you need a lift."

Pegasus immediately balked at the idea. Two people on his back was fine enough for him, thank you very much!

Thomas eyed the large stallion for a moment, brown eyes calculating. He took in Minho's presence then Newt's then the fallen centaur a few yards away. He shook his head.

"Thanks but no thanks. I still have things to do." He turned to leave but paused. "Thanks for rescuing me." He added as an afterthought.

Minho's grin turned mischievous.

"I thought you said you had it under control?"

Thomas flashed him a playful smirk of his own. "I did. Have fun in Thebes." He gave them both a careless wave then disappeared beyond the clearing.

Minho hung back, enthralled. "Wow." He breathed.

Newt rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah lover boy. Get on the horse before you forget where we're going."

The grin on Minho's face didn't disappear for the duration of their journey.

* * *

 _ **That crack thooooooo  
Questions? Comments? Critics?  
Leave a review!  
Or stalk me on tumblr via janrielworks or ladyjanriel**_


	11. Beauty and the Beast (Thominho)

For katznoir on tumblr, who requested a Beauty and the Beast with Minho being the beast and Thomas taking his sister's place.

I tried to match the writing in the original fairy tale but I think I failed at it _

 _Side Note: I've already been requested to finish this too but for now, here's what I have!_

* * *

 _ **Beauty and the Beast (Thominho)  
**_

* * *

All he wanted was to give his family a chance at survival. They weren't family in the traditional sense, Jorge was a childless merchant whose wife died of sickness previous winters ago. The children he cared for now were not his or his wife's, they were birthed by strangers and abandoned on the streets. They were orphaned children, brought close to death by sickness and neglect, but Jorge, who was a compassionate man, brought the children under his wing. He raised them and cared for them and would leave them in the care of the best nannies when his travels took him far. He would bring them gifts from far away towns; told them stories about the company he had kept or the harrowing dangers of his work.

Brenda grew safe and comforted by the luxuries of her father's work. She was adventurous and pretentious, beautiful to those who saw. She had suitors courting her from all wakes of town, but none seemed to satisfy her desires. She was kind to those she loved, but cold to those she didn't.

Thomas was a simple boy of simple needs. He grew up in the company of books and his father's stories, and often spent his free time in the libraries of town or his father's study. When Brenda had company, Thomas hid away behind his books and often dreamed his life away on adventures in far off lands.

They were happy children in a happy home. Jorge cared for them and they cared for him, but when his goods had been stolen – taken by his rivals – his business burned. His reputation tarnished.

With no money or goodness to his name, Jorge moved his family to the safety of the country side where the only luxury they had was a well full of water and fertile land for growth. The luxuries of life had left them uprooted. Tending to the farm and the animals were a chore for both father and son, and Brenda, the only woman in the house, had to wake up at dawn every day to get the house ready for the men. She would cook and clean, mend their clothes when it tore and tried her hand at fixing the soles of their shoes to no avail.

They were city folk, experienced in the ways of mingling and writing, but not in hard labor and food production. The starvation had begun to set in when, on one fateful day, Jorge received a letter. One of his shipments had arrived to its destination unscathed. The perplexing rumor behind his reputation had yet to reach this buyer, and so, Jorge bought a horse with what little money they had and asked his children for anything they so desired.

They begged for food. And so he promised.

* * *

The journey there would be long on only a horse with limited supplies, but if all went well, the return home should halve the time. Jorge dreamed of what was to come of his shipment. He dreamed of the money he would receive and the slow, painstaking process of restoring his good name. He would marry Brenda off quickly to the best suitor he could find, if only in the hopes to protect her from his downfall again. Thomas he knew would not marry, for he held no such interest in such a thing, but Jorge hoped to send the boy off to the finest scholar he could afford. At least then, should all things fail, his children would be cared for.

He would be able to die peacefully in the knowledge.

The forest thickened all around him. The air grew dark and cold, the winds churning up a storm. The foliage covered the sky, but Jorge didn't need to see them in order to understand the storm that brewed around him. In only a cloak for warmth, Jorge hurried the horse onward.

A thunderous crack tore through the pitch darkness. The horse neighed in terror and bolted down the path, jostling the poor merchant in its dash of madness. The pouring rain blinded him from the low hanging branch and he smacked hard into it as the horse scurried off into the dark. He fell with a crash, his body in pain, his mind screaming, but he could not rest. The howling of wolves brought his mind to attention.

Jorge scrambled through the darkness, wary of the dangers he could not see. He ignored the ache of his old back or the thunderous pounding in his head. Rain beaded down on him like tiny ice pricks, his cloak wet with mud and his body shivering in cold.

He found an old castle in the darkness, covered in vines so thick he could barely make out the stones beneath. The gates were coated in the foliage, yet still surprisingly functional. He managed to pry open the rusted lock and slipped into the courtyard, his footsteps slapping against the wet stone. He knocked frantically on the old wooden door and begged for entrance.

"Please! Let me in! There are wolves and I've lost my horse. I need help!"

He pulled onto the rusted ring and found, to his surprise, the large heavy door jerk open. Darkness lay in waiting for him, the only light he found came from the intermittent flashing of lightning. He slipped into the abandoned castle and quickly shut the door behind, silencing the hungry howling of the wolves.

He found food laid out for him in the hall. It was nothing extravagant, merely fruits and vegetables and some pastries Jorge hadn't had the pleasure of eating since before his business crumbled. He ate his fill and drank water from a silver goblet. He found fresh clothes abandoned on an arm chair and a warm hearth filled with fire already lit for his pleasure.

The castle seemed empty at first glance, but surely whoever owned it was kind for they treated their guest nicely thus far. Jorge fell asleep in the comforting atmosphere of the fireplace, his belly full, his thirst satisfied and his old bones warm again.

He dreamed of his children and of the goodness of his beautiful wife.  
He woke up to partial darkness, the window beside the fire place alit from a rising dawn. The storm had passed as he slept, but so did the time he needed to get to his reward.

"Without a horse, how will I ever make it to the town over?" he asked the silence. "My children will starve and here I am, full of food and rest while they waste away in our shack."

"A horse will be provided if one so wishes."

Jorge jerked in his chair, the voice unfamiliar and strange. He tried to turn to greet his unexpected visitor, but the stranger's snarl froze him in place.

"Do not look at me!" the stranger cried, his voice raucous. "I've allowed you into my home! Gave you food and drink, allowed you to sleep in my study as the storm passes and yet you dare look at me?!"

"Forgive me, I did not meant to." He answered coolly despite the terror in his veins. "I simply wanted to properly thank the Master of the Castle for allowing me to stay the night."

The hostility seemed to dissipate. Jorge could not see the stranger from where he sat, the darkness surprisingly thick despite the sliver of light peeking through the partially opened curtains. He heard the stranger's footsteps thud against the cushioned carpet, the noise heavy and loud, as though the person behind him were large in stature.

The idea made Jorge's heart seize.

"If you require a horse, I will give you one, but a price is to be made in exchange for my hospitality."

"As is all things in the world," Jorge muttered under his breath. He heard the man snarl behind him, but refrained from answering. "What is your exchange?" He asked instead when it was clear the stranger refused to speak.

"I will acquire one of your children."

Jorge flew out of his chair, horror written across his face.

The stranger suddenly shrieked, the noise loud and deafening. Jorge clamped his palms against his ears in a futile attempt to silence the creature, and in doing so, he left himself open to attack. The stranger slammed a meaty clawed paw against his chest and threw him down to the ground, careful to keep his attention toward the fireplace and not toward him, who feared to be seen.

"YOU WILL NOT STARE UPON ME!" He roared in pure rage. "YOU WILL GIVE ME YOUR OLDEST CHILD AS PAYMENT FOR MY KINDNESS OR YOU AND YOUR CHILDREN SHALL FACE DEATH."

Jorge struggled beneath the monster's weight, but found he could not. The creature was simple too big and too strong and the disparity of losing one of his children seized his heart like a noose to a neck. He relented tearfully and allowed the beast to fashion him a horse and supplies for his journey home.

"Bring me your eldest child and I shall leave you in peace." The beast had said. "Fail me and death shall be your reward."

* * *

He returned to the sad little shack he called home despairingly quickly. His children were baffled by his sudden return, but their curious minds were halted by the display of food packed away for them curtsey of the monster in the castle. They ate their fill and drank heartily from the well. Jorge dreaded when they would be done, for he knew the questions they would ask and feared the disappointment on their faces. Worse yet, he feared the devastation they would feel when he told them of the beast's wishes.

Thomas was the first to finish his meal and brought his inquisitive gaze to Jorge. The man steeled himself for the horrendous truth.

"How did the trade go? Did you get paid? Why are you back so soon? Did something happen?"

"Calm down child, not so many questions at once."

"We weren't expecting you back until the end of the week, what happened?" He questioned again.

"Did it go well then?" Brenda queried. "Since you're back so soon."

"I'm afraid things did not go as expected." He sighed. When they searched his face for answers, Jorge went off on his tale. He told them of his trip, how the forest grew dark and the storm sudden, how he sought shelter in an old, abandoned castle only for it to be the home to some ferocious beast.

Reluctantly, he told them of the beast's trade and ended his tale with a deep, saddening sigh.

Brenda, whose brown eyes were lit with fire and devastation, rose to her feet and tried to hide the tears from her eyes.

"I refuse!" She cried with fists held tight. "I refuse to allow you to send me off to some monster's home as payment! What will become of me in his care? I'll be eaten! Murdered!"

Jorge's heart broke. He knew these things, had thought of them on his journey back, and he hoped – prayed even – that the beast would not harm his precious Brenda.

But Thomas, sweet, silent Thomas, whose head remained in the clouds and his heart still pure from the cruelty of the world, turned to Jorge with eyes so strong and stern that the merchant felt his breath quicken.

"I'll go in Brenda's place."

"No Thomas!"

"I'll go," he said again, voice strong and devoid of emotion. "The beast expects the elder child, but he does not know us. I will go in Brenda's place. She will marry someone worthy of her love and live a happy life, as you would want father."

"But what of you?" Brenda cried. "What of your life? You will be condemned to live with a monster!"

Her brother shrugged. His lack of concern was truly baffling, but Jorge found he was not so anxious or terrified about Thomas' fate. The boy was intelligent and quite a bit mischievous. Should anyone be able to survive the beast's clutches, let alone escape, Thomas would be the one to do it. He knew it. He believed it to be true.

Brenda seemed to sense Jorge's understanding, for she too wiped away her tears and held her brother clothes.

"Find us again, Thomas. Please." She whispered.

"I will." He promised.

* * *

Jorge dreaded the journey back to the castle, worse now that Thomas lay in tow. They had bid Brenda good bye earlier that following morning; now they journeyed far into the dark forest, their path lit by a lantern in Jorge's hand. Thomas did not bring much, save for his journal and his favorite book. Brenda had given him her favorite ribbon from when her hair was long and hung low to her waist. Jorge had pinned an insignia to the boy's cloak, the only precious reminder he had of his wife.

Parting with his son hurt as much as it did parting with his wife.

The old, abandoned castle awaited for them in the darkness. A chest waited outside in the courtyard, along with a tall figure shrouded in dark cloth. Jorge felt his son stiffen behind him, but before he could reassure the lad, the boy was off the horse in seconds. Jorge followed pursuit, and with Thomas, approached the figure and the chest with reluctant footsteps.

The figure shoved the chest a few inches toward Jorge. "For your troubles." He said in his guttural tone. "To give your remaining child a fighting chance." He held out a hand toward Thomas, the darkness masking his furry paw.  
Jorge held the lantern low, worried the monster would change his mind and kill them if he raised the flame.

Thomas gave his father one last hug goodbye then crossed the threshold.

"Be gone, merchant." The creature commanded, though his tone held no authority, which surprised him. "Our trade is done."

Jorge refused to move, and instead, watched the creature vanish into the dark, silent castle. Thomas hesitated, gave his father one last wary smile – a futile attempt at reassurance – and vanished beyond the castle door. The loud slam seemed to echo in his mind as he journeyed home, treasure chest in hand.

* * *

Thomas did not consider himself to be brave by any means. In fact, he believed himself to be rather cowardly, often hiding behind his books and dreaming up adventures rather than seeking them out as Brenda would do. He had not been thinking when he offered to take Brenda's place; felt no reason to, honestly. Brenda was his sister, not by blood but by loyalty and he would rather die than allow her to be subjected to the torment of this beast.

He felt terror and a great sadness, yet also exhilaration. He hoped the beast would not kill him and the sadness he knew would dissipate in time. He would long for his father and sister, but knowing they would be well, thanks to the beast's generosity, kept the longing from staying too long. The only thing he felt of concern for was his own well-being now that he was no longer safe on the farm.

The beast had said nothing since his arrival. He'd done nothing but lead him up a spiral stair case and stopped only to unlock a door to their left. He opened it widely and stood silent off to the side. Thomas presumed this room would be his. It surprised him and he could not keep it from showing on his face or keep his tongue from moving.

"This is not a dungeon."

There was a noise that resembled a snort from the figure. Thomas gave him a glance, curious of the creature's true form, but wary. His mood was a tricky one according to his father's story.

Thomas took a peek into the room and found himself surprised once more. It was lit with candles and finely decorated. The dust and cobwebs had been cleaned, the sheets freshly washed. Despite the darkness in the rest of the castle, this one room held more light than he'd ever have the pleasure of seeing.

"Oh. It's bright."

"I am in the presence of a genius."

Thomas felt heated at the retort, but pleasantly stunned. The beast had a sense of humor it seemed.

"This will be your room for eternity." The creature carried on. "I expected a female, hence the fine furnishings, but this will do. You are feminine enough."

The heat intensified. He chose to ignore the creature's quips and entered the room with the air of a curious child.

The beast watched him, his expression hidden by the dark cloak, and although the room was bright, Thomas found he still could not see the stranger's figure. It bugged him not knowing who or what lay beneath the cloth.

"Dinner will be served soon. Make yourself comfortable, this place is your home now."

"What shall I call you?" Thomas asked before the beast could leave. "It'd be rude to keep calling you "Beast" in my head."

The creature hesitated, as though stunned by the boy's question.

"You may be call me… Minho." He hesitated, uncomfortable.

Thomas smiled, surprised and somehow relieved. The stranger before him seemed just as perplexed by his reaction.

"My name is Thomas. Thank you for helping my father." He bowed politely. "You didn't have to take him in, but you did. Surely, you're not as bad as they say."

He couldn't have been, not after he gave his father a chest full of treasure.

The creature – Minho – remained frozen by the door. Thomas couldn't read the expression on his face or see the tenseness of his muscles, not with the darkness and the cloak shrouding everything about him. He sensed the awkwardness and the discomfort though and allowed the poor creature to hurry away down the hall, not at all bothered by the silence.

Thomas didn't think himself brave or heroic like the heroes in his book, but he was a curious soul and desired to unravel the secrets behind this abandoned castle. But, most importantly, he wished to know the creature who called himself Minho and why he lived in such a beautiful castle all on his lonesome.

* * *

 **I really liked this chapter even though it's written strangely.  
Questions? Comments? Critics?  
Drop a line!**


	12. Snow White (Thominho)

_Sorry this was delayed for so long._

* * *

 ** _Snow White (Thominho)_**

* * *

As a child, Thomas had never gotten the opportunity to explore the thick forests that surrounded his kingdom. Being a prince meant he was guarded at every possible turn – and it sucked greatly. The only good thing to come out of it was the excuse of never having to be alone with his wicked, vain step-mother. Not that it mattered much, she spent most of her time talking to her mirror. (Thomas never understood why she did it. It wasn't like the mirror could talk back.)

He preferred her that way, it meant she wouldn't nag him and belittle the only friend he had.

Thomas smiled at the thought.

Minho held a precious place in his heart. He was unapologetically vocal about his opinions and had the best come backs. He was a commoner from the town, maybe even an orphan, though that wasn't unusual. Thomas loved sneaking out of the palace just to hang out with Minho. He gave his guard the slip every time (though Thomas suspected his guard was _letting_ him go see Minho without a fuss.)

Minho was Thomas' best kept secret.

Until one day, the boy was simply… gone.

He left no letter of his whereabouts; didn't leave clues for Thomas to decipher or even hinted toward his plans on their last meeting. He merely vanished, as though he had never existed in the first place.

It broke Thomas' heart.

His step-mother had been so wickedly pleased it made Thomas sick just looking at her. She'd been oddly happy in the last two weeks of Minho's disappearance, it troubled him. If she had anything to do with his disappearance… Thomas couldn't bring himself to think of it.

Was his step-mother that cruel?

Stupid question. Yes she was.

* * *

A year later, Thomas was itching to get away from the castle. His step-mother's moods had grown sour over the past few weeks. She was unbearably irritable and foul to him, he couldn't dare stay any longer with her and her sudden obsession for apples and that blasted mirror.

The first thing he did during the storming rain that pummeled the kingdom was pack up his things and left under the cover of night. If he was lucky, he would reach the forest before she sent the troops after him. If he wasn't… well, there was always next time.

He thought about Minho during his escape. Would he be proud of Thomas for running away? Or would he be upset that he wasn't there to see the look on his step-mother's face?

He chuckled forlornly. _He would have wanted to be there. He would've cursed her off the moment he could._

His chest felt tight as it always did when thinking about Minho. After a year of silence, Thomas still couldn't think of the feisty boy without feeling pained. He'd been so hurt and filled with regret.

The forest was thick with trees and brushes; moss crawled up the bark like fingers desperate to hold on. The sky was hard to make out through the canopy of leaves, but Thomas reasoned it was close to dawn. The storm had long since passed, yet the trees still dripped with rain fall and the cool air around him still smelled of ozone. It was rather pleasant to his senses.

His mother used to tell him stories about the forest. She told him about the strange little men who often spent their days mining for jewels deep in the mountains. She told him stories of beautiful goddesses disguised as foul looking old women on the hunt for immoral souls or of innocents cursed by wicked witches. He used to share his mother's stories with Minho, who often thought them to be childish, but Thomas knew better. Minho had been just as intrigued as him.

Thomas maneuvered his horse through the thicket. All of his mother's stories came rushing back to him in a wave as he stepped out into a clearing, the leisure dripping of left over rain ceasing without leaves to hinder their fall. He could almost recall the excitement in her voice at each story, but the brunet pushed it all aside. He didn't want to think about the past anymore.

He climbed off his horse to stretch his limbs when something peculiar caught his eye. Dawn broke out into the sky, the sun bright beyond the horizon, through the thicket of trees surrounding him prevented most of its light from reaching the clearing. Thomas couldn't make out what the strange formation looked like from his position - and at first, he thought it to be a rock – but a glimmer from a ray of light dispelled his thoughts. It couldn't have been a rock. For starters, it seemed far too angular to be natural. The small lightning bugs hovering around the area grew bright despite the rising sun. It lured him closer.

It wasn't a rock, it was a box. A box made from frosted glass.

He drew closer, curiosity at his heels.

It wasn't just a box, but a coffin and inside it, as though deep in a peaceful slumber, was Minho.

Thomas fell to his knees.

His body had thankfully grown numb, the shock a grateful veil against the heart attack that threatened to burst in his chest, but he knew it would not last for long. Within seconds, Thomas felt his lungs constrict and his eyes burned. A wretched gasp tore from his swollen throat; his body broke out into tremors.

His mind completely shut down.

"MINHO!" He screamed into the pink sky; his vocal cords straining in the effort.

He clawed at the frosted coffin, desperate to feel the boy's body one last time. (Even if he was cold and lifeless in his arms.)

Thomas pried open the glass casing and scooped Minho's still body into his arms. He was heavy in the boy's grip, his body cold but not deathly. His death must have been recent as his body was not yet stiff as corpses tended to be. (Thomas wasn't sure what he cried more for: the fact that all this time Minho had been alive and well or that Thomas had been only a day away from reuniting with him.)

He wished he could carry the boy away from this grave, but Minho's dead weight was too much for his lanky frame. Thomas gently laid him back down against the cushions and swiped aside dark bangs from his eyes. His fingers shook harshly in the process.

"Minho," he sobbed, hot tears streaking down his blotchy red face. He felt… broken all over again.

He scrubbed harshly at his eyes and forced out a water laugh. "I'm sorry Min. I know you think crying is for babies but…" He wiped away the fresh tears again. "I'm sorry."

He leaned into the coffin and pressed his lips against the others. They were still soft to the touch. Thomas tried to stifle his anguish.

He pulled away hurriedly, his resolve weakening.

"I'm sorry for not doing that sooner."

He reached out for the lid when a tanned hand shot out from the coffin and grabbed a hold of his arm. Thomas yelped. He tore his arm away from the grip and fell back in horror, his heart pounding in his chest. He heard the chuckles before his mind could process what happened and soon enough, Minho stood up on his own, laughing to the point of tears.

Thomas gawked at him. He couldn't get his tongue to move.

Minho wiped away the tears from the corner of his eyes and flashed the prince a dimpled smile. "You came for me. I guess that means you're a real knight in shining armor, huh?"

"Mi-Minho…?"

The boy's smile turned wistful. "It's been a while." He remained in the coffin, unwilling to tear his eyes away from Thomas' face. "You have no idea how hard it was for me to leave you behind. I wanted to take you with me so badly."

Thomas lurched toward him. He wrapped his arms around Minho and held him close, squeezing. Minho buried his nose into the crook of Thomas' neck and inhaled the boy's scent like his life depended on it.

"Wh-what happened?"

"Your step-mom's a bitch is what." Thomas stiffened. "She had a guy chase me out of town; tried to kill me in my own home. I got lost in the forest trying to escape him and found some cool people to help me. I was going to come back for you, or at least let you know where I was, but it took a long time to figure out where I was and cajoling them to help me get to you. But then, your bitch step-mom found out I was still alive. I spent the last month trying to escape her murder attempts until she got me. I don't know what she did but… now I'm here."

Minho cupped Thomas' face, gazing intently into those chocolate brown eyes. "You saved me." He murmured. He pulled the prince in for another kiss, lips soft like pillows and warm. So, so warm.

They departed shortly after, Thomas stunned and bright pink. Minho gave him a surprisingly vulnerable smile. "Thanks for rescuing me shank."

Thomas laughed. "Who would have thought that you would be my damsel in distress? I guess all those times we played make-believe paid off, except I was always the damsel in those games."

"Oh shut up." Minho laughed. He pulled the prince in close once more and captured those treacherous smiling lips.


End file.
